Colors of the Heart
by ligaras
Summary: Just the idea had made her stress level increase, paint is unpredictable and uncontrollable and sure as heck can’t be replicated in the same way a scientific experiment can. So why had her PEAP counselor suggested it? GSR
1. Prologue

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

_Las Vegas – anno 2005_

* * *

The swirling dark blue water brought back memories, warm memories of radiating body heat and wind in her hair.

Had it really been over ten years? What had…they done, or not done, since then to make life so cold at times?

She had opened the window over by her desk to let the orange light and soothing breeze visit for a while, but a draft had taken their place along with dusk.

"Shit!"

The layered bottom hem of the floor-length curtain swooshed onto the desk in avoidance of the cool November wind and so taking the barely half-filled plastic cup and brushes with it.

By the time she could scramble across to the kitchen for paper towels the sound of muffled droplets hitting the chair seat told her eyes to look directly to the floor.

Sure enough, a transparent and shallow blue lake now appeared on the wooden surface slowly flowing toward her couch.

"Great."

_Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all…_

_

* * *

_

Sara had always known that she was brilliant. What seemed like common sense to her growing up had just earned her anomalous stares from her peers and indifference from her parents. Her mind never turned off, _still never does,_ and if an answer could be thought out or calculated, she would be on it.

Kandinsky and Klee were brilliant too, but the definition was about the only thing she imagined having in common with two such masters of the canvas.

Just the idea of painting had made her stress level increase, paint is unpredictable and uncontrollable and sure as heck can't be replicated in the same way a scientific experiment can. So why had her PEAP counselor suggested she take up painting 'for stress relief purposes' as she had so deftly put it? What could she possibly paint?

A still life would involve non-living things; she already had more than her fair share of dead entities. And landscapes would require a horizon she figured, and she only became depressed at the thought that her own horizon seemed void of any forms of life whatsoever.

…

"_Colors, what do you think about colors Sara?" The question had been simple enough._

"_What do you think about when you think about certain colors?" the counselor had asked again._

"_Like blobs of color you mean?" Sara's quizzical features had been those of a full time investigator always on the job._

…

She didn't really have a good answer for that fuzzy inquisition, but it had made it into her revolving cycle of thoughts and she had caught herself thinking about it from time to time. When she had found the 16-color pan set of watercolors and accompanying assorted brushes, while looking for an old forensic journal in her closet, she had been pleasantly surprised. More than she could say had been the case when Nicky had given it to her at the graveyard's Christmas party last year, with the sentiment _'You need some color in your life Sara, get to it!_'

It actually had been really sweet she had realized later, but she had still been moping over the fact that Grissom had drawn Catherine, _of all people_, as his $10-gift recipient. She would have loved to have seen what he would have thought of getting _her_. He had given her an entomology book last year, but it was definitely not part of their office gift exchanges, it had been in her locker after shift on Christmas Eve. To see what he would have come up with for her to receive in front of the others would have been intriguing.

Having of course drawn his name, she had made him a butterfly calendar with photos she had taken herself since she had come to Vegas, and had had it printed at her pharmacy's photo lab, $9.99. She had left out the card, but had instead written a little sentiment in each of the month's note sections.

* * *

January – _A butterfly symbolizes nature's perfect symmetry_

* * *


	2. Blue

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

_**Blue**_

* * *

_Grissom was most definitely blue_.

That day, more than ten years ago, she had hastily swung her long legs into place in the right side chair of a two-person section at the very front row, determined not to miss a thing that the much-respected Dr. Grissom would be lecturing on. He hadn't turned the crime lab in Las Vegas into the second best in the country by chance, that much she knew. She had stopped by the bookstore on her way over to see if his most recent co-authored entomological reference book had become available yet, but had instead only come away with a fresh notebook and a dual-color pen.

And then there he had been.

And there she had been. _Lost, that's where she had been. _

Lost in this man's intensely blue eyes that had briefly gazed over her as he had formally introduced himself to the close to four hundred eyes looking back at him in the university lecture hall. Then, just like that, he had started passionately discussing various species of insects and their importance as forensic tools.

She had been lost in the moment under the spell that was Dr. Gil Grissom.

* * *

_San Francisco – some 10 years earlier…_

* * *

"You formulate some very educated questions Miss…?"

"Uh, I _do_?" Sara's eyes shot up from her pretend-mission of leisurely gathering her stuff.

"Indeed you do, Miss Ido!"He didn't know where his sudden playful confidence had come from.

"Oh, Sidle. Sara Sidle…" _What had she asked him again?_

She glanced down to her notebook for clues, but all she could see there were a jumble of blue doodles and the name Gil written repeatedly, as if she would ever forget.

_Oh god, I hope he doesn't read upside down…_

His eyes followed hers as her lovely neck again tilted her face to the conversation. Stubborn brown strands of curls sprung disobediently from behind her left ear, and if judged by her quick corrective action it had not been their first offense.

He had never encountered her beauty in all of his life, nor had his heart, apparently, as it tried to make its way up and out of his chest to skip in clear view of those golden-brown eyes.

_And she had legs too, and a smile nearly as wide as those legs were long… _

"…San Francisco Crime Lab, CSI II," she said upon his mouth opening, as if ready to ask her something else.

"Oh, well we are practically colleagues then, Miss Sidle. Coffee?" _Where did that come from?_

"Sara," she invited.

"Gil," he accepted.

"Okay…Grissom," her smile a tad self-conscious, "Coffee sounds good."

_What had he gotten himself into? She was definitely so very young…and dangerously attractive._

* * *

It had become their little habit of sorts, if discussing forensics and bugs and old cases over coffee three days in a row after his lectures could be considered a habit. Probably more like an oddity to most, but then they were not like most.

In fact, they were rather different, which is what made them so much alike.

"What?"

She slurred through the syllable, feeling her face flush in response to the amused expression fixed on her.

"Do you always take coffee with your sugar?" he teased innocently.

She looked into the dark amber-colored java in front of her, the busy liquid a concoction of flavors and colors swirling around.

_Or was that her head spinning?_

"—How do you live without the ocean?" Sara's question had come from the vast Pacific, as it sparkled in the far distance.

"I live in the dark. It's hard to miss what one is not used to seeing everyday, isn't it?"

If only he had known then how wrong that statement would prove to be.

"I suppose… You must not remember the unique smell off of the ocean breeze then, or else you would be missing it, _especially_ when it's dark."

She saw her own eyes reflected true-to-color in her coffee, but she didn't know exactly when the blue of his eyes had become indistinguishable from that of the Pacific behind him. She finished her cup quickly, closing her eyes briefly, and her reflection was no longer. She never would get tired of looking in _his_ eyes.

"I've got to head back to work, they probably think I got attacked by some of your bugs at this point," she said in a quaint voice, not wanting to leave in the least.

"Well, you better get there before me then, so I don't get blamed for the disappearance of their lovely CSI."

_He didn't know eyebrows could be so…mesmerizing._

"I'm meeting with Moby", he said with a triumphant smile at her obvious surprise.

"As a matter of fact I think I will have to buy him a drink later, to give him a chance to explain to me how he forgot to mention that he has such a brilliant CSI on his team."

_She had almost asked him to have dinner with her at the pier later, but was relieved she hadn't. But maybe—_

"Do you need a ride to the lab? I'm in the county vehicle; Bob wouldn't want it any other way."

"Thank you, I would like that. Shall we?"

* * *

"…so when I threatened to reveal to the entire dayshift how he became known as Moby, he relented." Grissom's eyes gleamed as he revisited yesterday's conversation with his old pal.

_He looked so adorably boyish when his face was filled with laughter…_

"I've heard it took him some getting used to, keeping his meals down that is, when he first started at the coroner's office," Sara responded with a grin, picturing her supervisor's now larger than average midsection.

"I guess moving to the crime lab changed that, huh?"

He scoffed.

"Nah, food, beer; it didn't matter. He would still be as white as the bodies he was examining; I would always have to do the dirty work for him. So when that didn't pass, he moved on to the PD. Wise choice, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh very, and you?" her eyes met his and stayed there.

"I was tired of doing Moby's work," he glowered, unable to hide the smirk on his face. "Actually, I missed being outside and in the field, so when a position opened up at the Las Vegas Crime lab I bode farewell to LA and welcomed the quirks of desert entomofauna."

Their meals had long since been finished and they had even ordered dessert and coffee, which had taken longer than it should.

Yet neither one of them had noticed.

Moby had recommended this restaurant on the Bay to him yesterday, after he had complained about having only one more day left in San Francisco and still not having had a chance to see the ocean. He hadn't mentioned his intentions of taking Sara there, but then they weren't old buddies for nothing.

"But you don't miss the ocean?" Her eyes had glazed over, looking a bit sad.

From early childhood on the blue of the ocean had always been there to calm her when she needed calming and envelope her when she was lonely. In winter, when the trees drop their leaves and the sun gives way to the dark, the ocean is still alive and there.

She can count on the dark blue body to always be.

"Let's go smell the ocean breeze," he said, looking at her as her face brightened.

The misty breeze spiraled through her now disobedient curls, sometimes brushing them up against his right cheek and ear. They were leaning on the railing under the pier illumination, looking at the myriad of moving lights on the dark Bay surface. While taking in the salty air and the scent and warmth of _her_, he had realized for maybe the first time ever that Gil Grissom would come to miss the ocean, and all that the ocean had come to signify…

When she had dropped him at the airport the next day, per Moby's orders, they had hardly spoken. Not because they hadn't wanted to, but because they had nothing to say. He had fished out his own well-used copy of his newest entomology volume, written his address and phone numbers in it together with a little note, and handed it over to her. Then he was gone.

* * *

February –_ Whisper your wish to a butterfly and it will be carried aloft to the Great Spirit, who will surely grant that wish_

_(Native American legend)._

* * *

_Las Vegas – anno 2005_

* * *

She hurled the soaked blue paper towels at her trashcan with a purpose and went on to wipe down the chair.

Out of the corner of her left eye a familiar entomology book demanded her attention and she flipped it off the shelf effortlessly and dusted it off briefly. It had been a long time since it had been opened…a long time ago she had opened it everyday.

_'Thanks for showing me your bright blue ocean. – Grissom'_

Tearfully she looked down at her still wet and crumpled blue watercolor canvas and could not help but wonder what color would be next…

* * *


	3. Yellow

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Yellow_**

* * *

She loved yellow like she loved magnolias. The flowers were a light yellow at best, if the large waxy petals could be called anything but creamy white. But they smelled of yellow. Besides, white is not a color.

She had not been privy to the magnificence of the _Magnolia grandiflora_ blossom growing up on the west coast, but during her years on the east coast, and subsequent travels up and down the coastline, their symmetrical beauty and unyielding strength had pulled her toward them. Once within reach of their fragrant bodies she had been unable to detach herself. She had not wanted to break them away from their life-giving tree, but had discovered, through observation, that the blossoms' life spans, even when attached to their source of life, were short. A trade-off for beauty she had decided. She had picked her first flower then and carefully wrapped a wet cloth around the gaping wound, as if to soothe and comfort.

The wonderful and bottomless citrusy scent had become her cue to dream, from thereon and always.

* * *

_Charleston – some eight years ago…_

* * *

Grissom. She didn't know. He hadn't mentioned it. But then neither had she.

The warm, yellow South Carolina spring sun seemed different from the one shining on the western part of the country, but then maybe it was; it had a head start after all. Charleston was nothing if not charming and something all-encompassing must have made it so. Why not the sun?

"Did you miss the ocean?" Her voice had been barely audible, but clear as a beacon to him through the mutter of voices.

"Sara?"

She smiled at him and took in his surprised expression. He looked stunned, but not the least bit less stunning than she had remembered him to be two years ago. The undersized courtyard area of the DoubleTree Suites and Conference Center seemed to get smaller by the second, and their boxed lunches less appealing. The International Conference of Forensics in Law Enforcement was halfway through its second day of speakers and poster sessions, and she wondered why they had not run in to each other sooner.

"When did you get here?" She couldn't help herself.

"Late last night."

As her eyebrows arched in a familiar way, he added,

"I'm the keynote speaker for the entomology session this afternoon, you should come."

She hadn't even looked at the program for the speaker series yet; she had been too focused on; or nervous with, her own poster-session on 'Material Analysis and the Contaminated Crime Scene' to think of much else.

"I can't," she said with slight defeat, "I have to present my Poster research this afternoon. You should come." She flashed him her toothy smile and laughed at her own parroting.

He looked down to his feet and pondered the dilemma for a minute.

"Will you tell me about it, over dinner?" he added. "We have two years of catching up to do."

That grin that had made him so irresistible in San Francisco was still there.

"I would be honored," she replied, caught slightly off-guard again by the flutter in her stomach.

"For now, though, we should probably finish our lunches, unless we want our stomachs to speak louder than we do this afternoon."

* * *

Want to come with me on a ghost walk?"

The couple of glasses of wine she had consumed with her dinner made her less CSI Sidle and more Sara.

"A ghost walk?" Grissom's face was a mixture of interest and disbelief. _She actually believes in that stuff? _

"C'mon, I'll be scared if I go by myself," she teased and pulled him along by his elbow, zeroing in on a group consisting of a handful of people huddled by a lamp post at the end of the Market.

"Have you ever been?"

"No," he simply said, truthfully, still puzzled by her fascination.

"I'm Mike and I'll guide you through the narrow alleys and dark footpaths of Charleston's haunted district…"

He wasn't dressed up, but he proudly wore a devotion to his birthplace that bode well for the upcoming hour.

"…and if I sense a presence I will stop and assess it," he said.

As the walk started, Grissom made sure they were in the way back of the group. Not one to play along, he didn't need to be up front making the tour guide uncomfortable. Besides, he secretly revered having Sara to himself he had to admit, without the awkwardness of being alone with her. The cover of dark didn't hurt either. His hand settled on the small of her back, and just like that the ghost that had followed him over the past two years withdrew.

He had to admit the man was a gifted storyteller, and when he had pointed to the stars at the intersection of Broad and King, speaking of the supernatural while referencing the first recorded scientific weather observation in America by Dr. John Lining in 1737, the moment was not lost on him.

This was not about evidence and science and certainty; whether or not ghosts are real, but about people and their curiosity for going above and beyond to discover something is possible when it seems without a rational explanation.

…

_Ghosts are what people leave behind unexplored, the wanton dismissals during the pursuit of self._

* * *

Sara had been so relaxed and at ease during most of the ghost walk that when it eventually ended he had found himself somewhat annoyed at having to leave his newly discovered alternative universe behind. She had caught him star gazing at the corner of Broad and King, and had given his hand a light squeeze as she had turned around to pick up where his peripheral vision had left off.

"What's your favorite constellation?" he had whispered, not to take away from their tour guide's narrative.

She narrowed her eyes slightly and turned to look at him with a devilish grin.

"Virgo"

As his eyes had widened she had hastily added:

"The only _female_ constellation of the Zodiac!"

"Ahh, of course…" _She was such a big flirt._

"Aren't you going to ask me what mine is?"

"Nope!" She had tossed her hair over her shoulder, almost managing to successfully suppress her laughter, and then dutifully followed their group around the corner.

"You coming?"

He hadn't known whether he should or not.

He knew she wasn't going to openly suggest it, but then he also knew it was what she wanted. So did he.

She had caught him off-guard when on their way back from the alluring ghost walk she had all of a sudden come to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk and thanked him for 'keeping her safe' from all the ghosts of the night.

"You…going somewhere?"

He must have looked as confused as he sounded, because her dark eyes truly had compassion in them when she glanced up at him.

"This is my stop," she gestured to the narrow entrance door right off the sidewalk.

"Planters Inn? They put you in Planters Inn?"

His surprised expression quickly morphed into a playful pout.

"Wow! Guess you have Moby wrapped around your finger, huh?"

"Could be," she laughed. "He was determined for me to come here and present, I really wasn't supposed to. And since we missed the deadline all the rooms over there were already booked."

Her eyes hinted down the sidewalk to where his hotel lay straight ahead and almost immediately around the corner.

She took a deep breath, as if to bask in his envy.

"Of course; I'm not complaining – third floor colonial grandeur with a view of the Old Market!"

They stood there for a while in awkward silence, neither one really wanting to be the one to break the spell.

"You know, they even let me pick some magnolias in the garden this morning."

She felt flushed as she looked to her feet for a sense of equilibrium.

"Really?" he cheered affirmatively.

"Well, _I_ had chocolate mints waiting for me on my pillow," he retorted with a smirk, the awkwardness not quite so awkward anymore.

_Pillow talk with Sara... _He mentally gave himself a pat on the back for that last comeback, pleased with his ability to think on his feet when in reality he felt his aptitude for thinking quickly diminishing.

"Well, I am going to go enjoy the smell of my magnolias then, they only really last a day you know." A shy smile formed on her face.

"It was good to see you again…will you be here for the rest of the conference?"

His expression fell as he sensed her vulnerability.

"I have to leave in the morning, upcoming court case. I've been called to the stand."

"Oh," she said. "Okay."

It was all she could think of saying. He took both her trembling hands and guided her eyes to his own.

"It was good to see you too, Sara. I will miss you."

He gently squeezed her hands before letting go.

"Enjoy your magnolias," he said with a sad smile as he looked at her looking away as his steps echoed off the pavement and into silence.

* * *

The peace of her grandeur room was only broken by the slight hum of the white noise machine sitting by the foot of her four-poster bed.

It was disconcerting.

Her body and soul were roused, and despite the gold-leaf wallpaper and antique furnishings, she felt like the room was like any other that she had ever stayed in.

Dreams of what might have been were what had made this room special.

She snuggled up to the resident mascot teddy bear sitting on the trunk. A tear soaked through his plush cheek, then another.

_Great, now I'll have to buy the darned thing… _

'_Room 305, Sara Sidle (balance total billed the SFPD, card on file): Queen double beds - $295/night x 3 nights plus tax - $942.55 ; room service - $0; phone service - $0; 1 light brown teddy bear - priceless.' _

_Yeah, Bob will have fun with that… _

She stripped down, curled up under the covers with teddy and placed the magnolias she had picked that morning on her bedside table, her cue to dream.

Then Sara Sidle cried herself to sleep.

* * *

He was half way to his hotel when he felt the presence of a familiar ghost from the past; as if it were back saying "here we are again."

_But he has to leave in the morning, it wouldn't be…fair…to her, them, would it_?

San Francisco and the state of California is a relatively long way away from Las Vegas and the state of Nevada, as far as relationships go.

And his lifestyle is even farther removed, a sacred place unwilling to reside in a state of commitment.

_Why did she have to drive him so crazy? _

He hated her for it, in a harmless sort of way, but hated her for the way she made him feel physically and emotionally. He hated her most for the pain she left him with when he walked away.

His hurried steps reverberated against the walls as he turned, backtracking his previous footfalls.

_He couldn't leave her…trembling like that, even if tomorrow…_

_Even if the pain of tomorrow were just hours away_.

He quickly made his way through the doors, through the foyer, around the back to the elevator.

The elevator.

At this 'fancy-schmancy' grandeur-containing, Sara-containing hotel one must have a key to ride the elevator.

_A__key_.

The panic on his face did not go unnoticed by the concierge; whose polite "can I help you" added fuel to an already explosive condition.

"NO," he roared at the source of the gesture, standing there looking at the elevator as if he'd missed the last train home on a stormy night.

"No, thank you. I'm fine. I'm sorry."

With that Grissom retreated, paced back to his hotel, packed his suitcase, got in the shower and went for a walk. He had one last thing to do….

* * *

March_ - 'May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun, and find your shoulder to light on _

_To bring you luck, happiness and riches today, tomorrow and beyond' – _An Irish Blessing

* * *

She woke early, sleep never having succeeded in getting a solid grip on her. The sun was peeking through the blinds and the white noise almost drowned out the hustle of the street below. She decided she needed to find a white noise equivalent for drowning out her emotional life of late. Yesterday's magnolias had wilted and turned brown; so much for strength, beauty and dreams, she thought.

She took a long, scorching hot shower; her skin turning pink from the water like the flowers had turned brown from the lack thereof. She dressed, picked up her folders and her purse, put on a brave face and opened the door to the third floor hallway.

She almost fell over them, almost stepped on them. But just almost.

There, in front of her door, were ten beautifully robust, cream-colored magnolias, each one bored into the rotund side of half a yellow apple. The odd display of the yellow apple magnolia forest outside her door made her cry again, but sweet tears this time.

Sweet like yellow apples and magnolia fragrance and sweet dreams.

'_An apple a day is for me to say take care my friend until I see you again – Grissom'_

* * *


	4. Green

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Green_**

* * *

_Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises_

-Pedro Calderon de la Barca

* * *

_Charleston – some eight years ago…_

* * *

There had been an unusual spring in Sara's step as she had made her way down the sidewalk to the DoubleTree just in time for the second speaker of the day, _for most anyway, _she had not been able to pull away from the sweet dreams left in front of room 305 for quite some time that morning and consequently missed the first presenter of the day. Yet she had felt merely a guilty pleasure as she had sidled herself past two contrastingly dozed gentlemen in the very back row, _so unlike her_, a deliberate move allowing her to daydream without interruptions.

She was not doing anything her fellow colleagues were not; she was simply focusing on different evidence, more vital affairs. Luckily she didn't really '_know-_know' anybody else there, because she didn't much think she could make her body sit still for the rest of the day. Even professional small-talk made her feel like she were fresh out of school, all bashful; whether it was because of her flushed cheeks and that gaga look in her eyes, or because of the way her tongue tripped over even the most basic forensic terms.

_Good thing her poster session had been yesterday while she was still in the 'oh-Grissom-is-here' shock phase and that the man himself hadn't been able to attend. _

They had only spent one day in each other's company and she was this out of it.

_Well, they had spent six partial days together total…over two years. Okay Sidle; get a grip! _

Her olfactory sense had heightened being next to him under the cover of South Carolina spring darkness and instincts had admittedly kicked in. No wonder her other senses were a bit dull at the moment.

The fragrant magnolias, too, would only have one precious day, and she had no plans to miss out on any of it only to see them give up the ghost and wilt away.

_Oh no, she had her own plan of action for all of them._

* * *

The smell of jet fuel had been a rude awakening, insulting the hint of citrus still lingering from his not too distant past. Sometimes he theorized that if the world would work backwards, the future would be the past in fast-forward, just fast enough to be slightly ahead. It was his very own predictable dream world hypothesis, turned ad hoc by the introduction of this amazingly baffling brunette.

_How would he have met Sara in a world that never allowed for slowing down? _

Of course his flawed theory was just as ludicrous as the fact that row upon row of large grounded metal flying objects would obey gravity laws when left to themselves at a 45°angle. He had looked out at all the grey military planes hibernating in neatly ordered patterns below as the slight jagged feel of the runway had seized, leaving his earthly connection to Sara now literally up in the air.

"Who is she, dear?"

Grissom turned at the frail voice coming from the elderly woman seated to his left, her face warm and caring like that of his own mom.

"I know that look," she simply said,

"and I won't bother you if you want to keep it to yourself, I understand."

At the shy upturn of his lip, his surprised countenance softened as his eyes moved over her gentle features.

"And I know _that_ look" he said with a slightly defiant smirk before returning his gaze to the vast blue nothingness outside his increasingly crystallized window.

The odds she were headed to Vegas were slim. He couldn't even picture his mother gambling, so he decided to stay politely quiet until he could soon fade away in the Charlotte crowd en route to his connecting flight.

His eyes shifted to focus intently on the pin-sized hole at the bottom of his airplane window, as if it really would equalize the pressure in his chest.

He had felt it since leaving room 305 early that morning.

_Well, the door and the outside of room 305. _

The helpful concierge had been more than forgiving despite his minor outburst the night before…and had wished him the best of luck when he had told him he hoped to be back someday, with key privileges.

…

Nothing painful, just the tense restricted feeling of your ribcage signaling you may have held your breath for a little too long one too many times lately.

Or maybe it came with too much adrenaline dispersing throughout the body for unfamiliar reasons.

Or maybe the reasons were not all that unfamiliar and maybe it had nothing to do with lack of oxygen.

Maybe it had to do with the lack of _someone_.

After all, he had experienced very much the same thing two years ago….

* * *

All she had been able to see were Grissom's deep blue eyes, this time around reflected in the Atlantic Ocean. And with the afternoon arrival of a slight offshore breeze, closing her eyes had put her right back on the San Francisco Pier to that night before he had left.

Of course this wasn't 'Frisco and Grissom were not there with her, but her dreams were, all ten of them.

…

Her patience had lasted, or behaved rather, until lunch.

Then, with her boxed turkey sandwich lunch in one hand and a lemon Snapple iced tea in the other, folders squeezed tight between her upper arm and body, she had made her way back to Planters Inn.

Her hand had been cold and wet from the glass bottle and her key had not been in it.

After some careful juggling, she had retrieved it from the bottom of her purse…she just didn't do well with carrying a purse.

Grissom's business card had stuck to her wet hand, luckily not smearing his little notes on the back, only some work related stuff, but still; it was his hand-writing, and from him.

_Next time she would fish out the key beforehand, oh well…_

The atmosphere of room 305 had wafted through the door to meet her.

She had been through Yankee candles, plug-ins, oils and all kinds of supposed magnolia scented potpourri over the years, but nothing she had found had replicated the true yellow scent of the real deal.

She sat down on the bed, back against the wall and legs stretched to the foot end and crossed. With the Snapple sitting on her night stand on a paper towel and the opened boxed lunch in her lap she had welcomed a big smile as she had noticed teddy looking over at her from the trunk in front of the bed.

_This was nice._

The blossoms were still strong and beautiful as she gathered them and carefully sat them down, yellow apple-halves first, into her part mesh duffel bag. Fortunately she had a habit of packing her shoes and toiletries in a separate bag within her suitcase, or else carrying ten wide-open ten-inch magnolia flowers set in ten accompanying apple-halves, could have been rather awkward. _No kidding._

The East Battery walkway had been rather quiet for such a pretty day. Fort Sumter had been visible in the distance and the sun had been nervously winking at her from the water below, nothing but the railing separating them.

She had unzipped her bag, careful not to miss a last deep whiff, before gently pulling each blossom from its nectar base and releasing it into the calm blue infinity with a silent wish. As the saline water rippled from cushioning the very last one she had looked to the center as its yellow stamens came loose, falling like little matches to the cupping petals below.

She had felt a tear down her cheek as the last of Grissom's magnolias had drifted away to forever become part of the enveloping ocean.

_She had wished they would never have to feel alone, ever.  
_

* * *

As he had wedged the elderly passenger's lightweight floral pattern textile bag between two suitcase-like monstrosities already in the overhead compartment, he had inadvertently come across the attached tag.

'_Mrs. Eldis Green, _

_Sunrise Apts, _

_S. Valley View Blvd, _

_Las Vegas, NV' _

He had smiled to himself while shaking his head, deciding his people-reading skills were slipping.

_Never assume anything. _

"…you are certainly welcome Ma'am."

She had situated herself and unfolded the blanket he had pulled down for her; she had been known to get a bit cool over the course of the five-hour crossing she had informed him.

"Eldis," the older lady uttered,

"and I suppose you will not be able to look out the window this time around, my dear."

He had listened as he seated himself in his assigned aisle seat; the middle seat remained empty allowing for some elbowroom at least. Glancing over, her mellow face revealed that her mild taunt came from years of experience.

"I believe you are right, Eldis!"

It was hard not to like her as much as he craved his own solitude.

He settled in with a book, it would be his lifeline should he need one.

"She must be a very special person; you have been staring at the same page for over ten minutes now, dear."

_So much for the lifeline…_

"Sara," he said, after a minute, stuffing the useless hardcover in the seat pocket in front of him.

"And yes, she is."

"And…?"

"Hmm?"

"When will you see her again?" She could tell this was new to him by his insecurities, or maybe that was just his way.

"I don't really know." _But I wish I knew… _

He had purposely tried not to let his thoughts drift in that direction. Unless his 'future-as-the-past' theory would reveal his dream world beyond the theoretical stage, the future would consist of an infinite number of unknown scenarios.

And he had no guarantee she would be part of any of them.

'The world is full of possibilities, my dear."

Maybe she was right.

_Possibilities._

Maybe what he had always frowned upon as the unknown, an unknown scenario being an obvious one, could really be viewed as a possibility?

But even possibilities did not necessarily mean things were probable, or practical.

_Or painless._

* * *

April - _Love is like a butterfly, it goes where it pleases and it pleases wherever it goes_

* * *

His townhouse had looked no different from that of two days ago, but it had felt different, bigger somehow, more…lifeless.

The scraping sound his bag had made as he had deposited it haphazardly on the table had made him wince.

So what if one normally left the bag on the floor.

So what if the table had another scratch.

So what, nobody would care.

Nobody.

…

"_You. have. three. new. messages."_

"Hi Gil, Moby here. Give me a ring okay; got a case I need your input on. Call me at the office, like you I'm always here."

"Gil, Brass. Something's come up, call me when you get in."

"Um…hi._………….._.—I…, I know you're not home yet, so…but I wanted to thank you for the magnolias, I…. That was so kind of you! - Oh, this is Sara. I just really love magnolias you know, they really smell sooo good and are really special. - To _me_. I…. Sorry you couldn't stay a little longer, it's really nice down here you know, and I walked around a bit today and, - _after_ the conference, and I…I got you something at the Market, nothing big, just…it reminded me of you. Sooo, um…maybe someday we could— _BEEEEP, end. of. new. messages._"

* * *


	5. Red

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

_**Red**_

* * *

May - _Psyche is the Greek word for Spirit and Butterfly._

* * *

_Las Vegas – anno 2005_

* * *

It was that uneasy feeling.

The kind that lingers right up top in your chest cavity, pressing down on your feelings because you know you screwed up. The localized presence that encompasses all of your being making you feel slightly nervous and jittery and ready to curl up in bed and hide because your conscience feels physically ill.

It was the one that no words can describe, but to which every word you encounter will refer.

It was that kind.

She longed for the deep healing breath that would indicate the weight had been lifted and her lungs would again be capable of holding a sufficient amount of air.  
In reality her reaction had been reasonable and logical leaving no justification for her uneasiness, but this was surreal and beyond logic and reason; which was exactly why she felt the way that she did to begin with.

This was, _is_, too valuable not to endure.

It was just that she had endured so much of it and for such a long time; she was so very tired and weary.  
_But so had he, and so was he. _

She knew that now.

And for the first time ever she thought she might understand...a little.Yesterday, when he had showed up at her door radiating nothing but honesty from his eyes, she just hadn't wanted to talk.

She had been…

…tired.

Work had seemed longer than usual and the cases too real.  
Her stomach was cramping, her head was spinning and she were just plain bitchy.

He had been…

…trying.

"Red roses?"

Silence --

"You are telling me now that all this stems from _red roses_?"

Sara's face had been that of utter disbelief, no, sheer and pained abhorrence.  
If she hadn't seen his face right then and the wide-eyed look of fear reflected in the glassy blues, she would have told him to go fuck himself.  
Her anger had shown him no mercy, nor had her words.

Lingo had rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth and into his face. She felt like she had to get it out, like she had to throw up all that venom and he was the porcelain god of choice.  
It was not like he wouldn't just receive it, flush it, then clean up around the edges and immediate surroundings and be right back to normal anyway.  
It would be in mode for him.

_Red roses…_

* * *

_Some eight years prior…_

* * *

Gil Grissom had stared at the answering machine for longer than his brain had managed to keep count of the seconds. At threehundredandfive he had lost rhythm, seconds becoming drawn out and inaccurate and he had cursed himself for the loss of control.

He had cursed the answering machine too, following what must have been threehundredandsix seconds, after which he had been looking at its dead and battered pieces scattered in front of the brick wall directly below the dead butterflies that lived on it, in framed glass boxes out of reach.

_As if even butterflies could be dead and live at the same time._

He walked over and carefully picked up the tape, his hands suddenly gentle after the show of violence only seconds before. He had a temper and he feared it.

Sara was on that tape and the tape was intact.  
Sara was on there so she was intact.  
Nothing broken it looked like,  
so then she must be okay.  
Nothing is missing,  
Sara is missing.  
Not nothing,  
Sara.

_Missing…Sara_

He had completed his testimony flawlessly, always the expert witness. Never faltering, always in control. It was predictably simple.  
Brass had flagged him down upon his return.

After a brief _"How was your trip, uneventful as always?"_ and the _"Never a dull moment!"_ that had followed, the man had come alive briefly.

"Good, good. You won't mind the SFPD _bugging_ you some more then." A throaty snort had escaped at the mention of 'bug'.  
_Brass always had the humor of a fly that couldn't bird…_

"You sign my travel requests!" was all he uttered, SFPD still ringing in his ears and clouding his mind.

"And I had a message from Moby when I got back, thanks for giving me a heads up."

"My pleasure, then that's settled then."

* * *

Seventeen days later, Grissom found himself focusing on yet another pinhole in yet another airplane window, as a familiar tightness crept into his chest. Or, rather emerged from within him he decided.

He sat in the break room of the SFPD's slightly downtrodden main building as he waited for Moby to surface.

"For a Ms. Sidle" he heard from the reception area across the hall as a clipboard-clutching shadow appeared.

"Again? Oh my…!" a female voice responded, the voice getting stronger as she approached his room, only to bypass him for the little refrigerator in the corner.

"She can't miss them here," she said, apparently to herself, as she set the vase down in plain view.

"Oh hi, how are you Sir? Can I get you anything?"

"Thank you, I am just fine. Waiting for Mr. Katz."

"Dr. Grissom! Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you right off the bat. Moby should be out of his meeting in no more than fifteen, Sir."

"Thank you."

Five minutes and the bouquet of red roses had him so stirred up it brought him to his feet and sent his eyes across the hall.  
Nobody there.  
He casually walked toward the fridge, and with his body in front of the vase perused the card held by three clear plastic fingers among thorny green stems.

'_To a real one – Tim'_

* * *

"Grissom!" Sara's exclamation made both men turn.  
_Probably not the first time that had happened Gil thought to himself._

"Dr. Grissom, nice seeing you again" she amended at Moby's deciphering gaze. _Shit Sidle, subtle much…geez._

"You too, how are you Ms. Sidle?"  
He couldn't hide his one-sided smirk if he had tried, Moby's left-out expression notwithstanding.

"Uh, I'm fine" she announced, realizing the possible double entendre as his eyes burned her lips.  
Wide-eyed she stood between the two as if aliens from planet Inept had dropped her right there.

"So…?"

"So?" Moby echoed, fully aware of his criminalist's unusually flustered façade.

"Would you like to join us for a briefing kiddo?"  
His suspicions were confirmed when she flinched at his nickname for her, he contained his grin just about as well as his buddy had earlier.

_Damn, I'm not a kiddo – and this is not the time._

"You may if you like, we could use your clever mind, Ms. Sidle," he added.  
She turned with a wide smile and followed them down the hall, arms swinging and confident in her stride.

_She would be working with Grissom, on her home turf!_

Together they had spent nearly five hours in a smallish room by a centered layout table. Inching together hour by hour, yet feeling increasingly comfortable in each other's space, completely professional. She had peeked at his dimples and the way they moved according to the intensity of concentration on his face. And every now and then his glasses gave her the opportunity to look right to his eyes, without the obstruction of a lens, because of the angle she had on him from her stool by his side.

Sometimes he would spot something tiny, but huge.

Grissom was like a pig after truffles she imagined, and she could swear his sense of smell was just as acute. He always seemed to be taking something in, collecting and connecting through his senses – and thinking. He came across as an individual constantly lost in thought.

Her mental images of a piggy bank and a mud hog having it out had let her glance linger a little too long and he had turned to her a bit puzzled; her eyebrows getting his attention.

'Just thinking,' she had said, a half save.  
_The piggy bank won, he was as treasured as he was hard to crack. Adorable too…_

He was very professional _and smelled really good. _She truly was fascinated by what she were learning from him, even though the case was being recreated through the use of video footage and meticulous photographs; every larva or pupa were important, and every stage of their life meant something. And he took it all very seriously. She admired that in him. She sensed that most every case must be like this to him, high profile or not.

He had made use of her long limbs and phalanges, as the various photos would inevitably work themselves toward the middle of the table, out of his reach.  
_Occasionally he had encouraged such happenings._

The small of her back would bare itself as she reached across the table and he would remember how his hand had rested there so perfectly before. He was looking over the top of the rims of his glasses when she caught him staring at his right palm.

"What happened to your hand?" The series of little prickle marks weren't a big deal, but like paper cuts they hurt exponentially.  
The shrill of her cell phone caused her to jump, her calf bumping his in the process. She quickly got up, excused herself and retreated to a corner.

Not that it would make much difference, she did have caller ID and it wasn't…

"…Timmy?"

She flushed immediately. He was calling from the front of the building wanting to take her out for lunch, a surprise to show her how much he cared for her.  
_Today of all days he wanted to take things one step further by showing up at her place of employment, if only…_

She fidgeted; one hand in her pocket, then back out. Hair behind her ear, then in her face and twisted around her index finger. Heel of right shoe on toes of left shoe as if choking a cigarette butt, and leaving a stain. Voice getting lower and lower; airless, not breezy.

"I can't, not now. Uh, this just isn't a good time. I'm in the middle of an important case and – _flowers_? Nooo…? I'm sorry, I'll check. Look, I – okay, you sure? Yeah…you too."  
_Where is that big black hole of nothingness when you want it?_

He didn't look at her.  
_Timmy? They had nicknames for each other? He had signed Tim, not Timmy…what was hers?  
Was this serious, had he just…_

"Sorry," she snapped her cell quickly back into place on her right hip, keeping her trembling hands engaged doing…something. That was literally done in a snap and her hands found her pockets as she sat down; markedly less relaxed than had been the case just a minute ago.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She offered a bright smile, not quite reaching her eyes.

"Let's… Let's take a break, grab some lunch. My treat."  
_Shit, Timmy may still be there._

"How's it going you two?" Moby poked his head in for a second, looking as if he were definitely on his way from A to B and layout were somewhere in the middle.

"So far it has been straight forward, nothing amiss. Why don't you come with us for a late lunch? We were just about to head out and we could give you the run down of the case. So far your guys have done a good job documenting the timeline, feeding the maggots and…"

"Spare me! Give me five, okay. I'll meet you up front."

_Note to self: Indulge boss for the next forever._  
A five-minute wait had never felt more welcomed.

* * *

One by one they had floated away to the end of the ocean, a dozen times over.He had squeezed his hand firmly around the last one, needing to feel the pain of guilt.  
_Now he officially had blood on his hands. _

He had claimed her.

* * *

'_A robin red breast in a cage  
Puts all heaven in a rage'_

- William Blake, _Auguries of Innocence_

* * *

_Anno 2005_

* * *

_Red roses…_

Her rage had come full circle.  
"So _you_ took them, as in stole them, because you didn't want me to acknowledge them?"

He had swallowed hard while he had looked to the floor with a mixture of defeat and sadness.

Then he had nodded.  
Then he hadn't done something.  
He hadn't turned for the door and he hadn't opened it.  
He hadn't stuttered, he hadn't apologized, he hadn't done what she had come to expect of him.

For once he had simply _done_.

"I regret that moment.  
He had looked up at her and through her into their past.

"I regret that moment because you were not there."  
He had looked at the woman he had caged for so many years, caged within the confines of two conflicted minds.

Then he had gathered the strength it would take to undo the latch.

It was not like him to be cocky and he had known as riled as she was it would likely be the last straw for her.  
_He had known he might never see her again._

"I regret that moment because you were not there with me to do it yourself."  
_Latch undone, door wide open._

He had looked at her, no -- looked _to_ her, as a deep audible sigh escaped to let recharged air in.

Silence --

"I regret that moment… because I didn't _let_ you."

* * *


	6. Brown

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Brown_**

* * *

June - _A page of the wind in the book of the sky, the fragile butterfly_

* * *

_Las Vegas – anno 2005_

* * *

Evidence.

She weren't going to classify it, not by color anyway, but it didn't belong.

That she knew. _It was uncharacteristic and misleading._

A careful removal would not really reverse the truth_, although she suspected pleasure could_, but it would alter the truth.

It's not like anybody would care, or even really notice, if just one single hair was missing from her case.

It was not expected to be there to begin with, so by disposing of the evidence she could not be held responsible, could she?

_Only accountable…to herself._

The chrome tweezers held on tight, not she, then opened and dropped said hair into the toilet to flow away

with the Ekman spiral as she pushed down the silver lever to allow for it to flush away.

And just like that the hair had drowned away.

_Away, away, away…_

Now all she saw was _brown_; brown eyes and brown _hair_.

Yet somehow she still felt old.

She turned off the lights; it was time to put this case to bed.

_White female, age 34. Brown eyes, brown hair…mostly…lonely, unhappy. _

She padded out of the bathroom, snaked out of her work clothes, found a clean camisole in her third drawer down and then turned…herself…in.

…_Sweet dreams Sara Sidle._

* * *

_San Francisco – some eight years prior…_

* * *

  
She had been caught and she knew it.

And it hadn't been the first time either, but _damn_; the way his short wavy hair had reflected the sunlight, revealing a tiny bit of gray behind his ears where it were otherwise in an indistinguishable mixture with brown, was just such a turn-on.

Erotic almost.

_She decided she would kiss behind those ears some day!_

At least he hadn't noticed.

Of the three of them, only Moby had seemed to have had his senses intact and operable as his eyes had demonstrated to her when they finally had captured hers, breaking the gaze that had existed between a pair of intense brown eyes and healthy gray mane.

Those two must have been close to the same age she had reasoned, _but Moby was old, whereas Grissom was not_.

"Ladies first," the visitor had stated while propping the door, as his palm touched her lower back ever so slightly guiding her through the diner entrance.

"Trying to tell me something?" Moby had teased as he benevolently shoved his friend through the door and ahead of himself.

Inadvertently Grissom had lost his balance causing him to bump directly into Sara who had at that point had just come to a halt by the hostess stand. His arm had reached out around her by way of sheer reflexes, to keep her from falling, as his right leg had done a half skip forward and to the side, avoiding her foot, to balance himself and her both.

Moby had not so very discretely busted out laughing, causing an elderly couple in a nearby booth to look up from their meatloaf and giggle a bit.

Sara had now, in a split second, gone from dreaming of Grissom's ears to finding herself in his firm embrace with her outside left thigh hugging his front tightly, his inside right thigh against the back of her thighs and his mouth breathing hot spent Grissom air behind_ her_ ear.

_Oh god, erotic hadn't been half of it._

Her hair had in turn tickled his nose driving him crazy.

Somehow he had managed to be the first to communicate with his legs, because she had felt a chill as his breath had receded.

Obviously he hadn't been completely oblivious to her tight spot because he had allowed his right arm to slide down to her waist to gently walk her along with him as he had simply told her to…

"—C'mon."

She had guessed he had been communicating with _her_ legs as well.

He certainly had done so with the rest of her… He had undone the rest of her, 

…_almost._

She had been as mortified as she had been mute and had not objected when he had sat himself down next to her on the worn brown vinyl bench seat.

She had needed him.

* * *

The fish tank had only housed two fish, one orange Fantail and one Black Moor.

Of course it had stubborn brown algae growing everywhere, so there could quite possibly be other fish, dead or alive, somewhere in there.

Either way the tank and its inhabitants had been a welcome distraction from the sensory overload she was trying, and failing, to recover from. She had probably come across as studying the aquarium a bit too keenly.

Her facial expression had given her away, those brown eyebrows moving about again.

"It's always been there, that's why," Moby had said.

"It's tradition."

"Yeah, well tradition means it is old," she had said,

"and besides I don't appreciate looking at two poor creatures behind dirty tempered glass walls as I am trying to make this supposed Ruben go down."

She had instead picked up a couple of potato chips and ground them between her molars.

"And my chips are stale."

"Anything else Miss Chipper?" Moby grinned, not denying her claims about his favorite old hangout.

"Yeah, how the hell can you eat fish'n chips with those pitiful two looking over your shoulder?"

She had displayed her most disgusted grin with a set of brown eyes to match.

"Don't you feel bad for them?"

"Mnou, mnaat veely," his mouth full with a partially ground mash of fish and bread and chips.

"Oh, that's just great," she had muttered before bringing a soggy greenish-brown pickle to her lips.

"Even as sour and bitter as this pickle is,"

she sucked out the juice before taking a bite,

"it doesn't even _come close_ to removing the bad taste you've left lingering in my mouth!"

She had been too caught up in her repartee with her boss to notice the sharp intake of breath by the increasingly silent individual directly to her left.

_He would never be able to so much as look at a pickle, hear a pickle, or listen to pickle-talk from Sara's mouth ever again._

* * *

…

It had not been his intention really…but then nor had a lot of things lately.

He had meant to put them back by the fridge, behind the microwave that rested dutifully atop.

He thought he had meant to.

_Hadn't he?_

But they had been too far gone anyway at that point, beyond reprieve, curled and brown around the edges.

Not because it had been unusually hot that day, or because they had been stifled within an oppressive trunk.

No, rather because it had been a pleasant day.

A really good day, if not hotter than usual in some respects.

_A warm and wonderful day._

He had simply forgotten.

_Blame an aging mind other ways preoccupied._

He wondered what would be contained in the forecast for tomorrow...

They would finish up the rest of the timeline and if all would go as smoothly as it had today he would be on his way back to Vegas at this point in time tomorrow evening.

_Could that then be considered a good day? A successful day?_

Good had seemed to be a relative term these days, depending largely on specific elements in one's environment.

Nothing elemental about Sara, however, she was as complex and mystifying as they come.

Perfectly so.

And she had become part of something he sensed as far superior to his usual surroundings…

Life perhaps?

Hmmm…

He had stood at this very spot a little over two years ago, with Sara there next to him smelling the mist off the ocean breeze.

Everything was the same now as then, save a loose plank on the railing and the slight weathered browning look of a board that had been newly replaced when they had stepped on it two years ago.

And Sara of course.

But Sara hadn't changed a bit, beautiful and mysterious as ever.

They had discussed the case and brought Moby up to speed on the ins and outs upon arrival back at the lab.

Lunch had provided…distractions, and they had not even mentioned the case once while at the diner.

There had still been tension, although not negative tension, more like nervous energy and maybe a sense of embarrassment.

When he had jumpstarted Moby's ramblings about the good old days it had been a relief; some common ground that was entertaining and familiar.

For them at least...

He hadn't even thought about the fact that their conversation had been centered on a time when Sara probably hadn't even started school.

He just hadn't thought that far.

Not until she had started looking increasingly uncomfortable and cracked an impromptu joke, quickly excusing herself saying it was time to head on home.

And it had been.

He had been rambling on about bugs and bodies, as was his trademark, like there was nothing else in the world, for that long.

He had simply assumed she was there and that assumption had felt comforting to him.

He hadn't even noticed her absence.

…

Except that when he had come to that very conclusion she had already left…

* * *

_Even though they had wilted, the thorns had been sharp enough…

* * *

_

He had come to a realization while watching those roses drift away from him, one by one, not to be seen again.

He had experienced an epiphany of sorts.

What he had done and what he was currently doing was wrong, but not intentionally hurtful.

He had decided he had wanted to see her bright smile again.

He needed to see her smile again as much as he imagined she needed to feel it.

* * *

An hour later he had knocked on her apartment door.

His hand still appropriately sore.

The chain had rattled before the door opened, a wide-eyed Sara looking up at him.

"For you," he said.

"And I'm sorry."

He had looked at her with that silly-sad smile she had come to know as genuine and genuinely Grissom.

"I've got to go get the rest of the stuff out in the car, be right back." He had turned and marched on down to the open trunk of his rental.

She had been dumbfounded as her right hand had grasped the top knotted end of the clear bag and her left hand had cradled the bottom, feeling slight movement through the plastic.

Upon his return she had held the door and moved over to the side, out of his way, while still carefully clutching the plastic bag.

Her soft brown eyes voiced the question so that her lips did not have to.

"The very same," he had validated.

"How'd you…"

"—I said it was a matter of life and death."

He gave her his most accomplished grin, the one that always caused him to tilt his head, just slightly, but tilt it to the right while looking directly at her.

"Ultimately that is the truth, and always will be, wouldn't you say?"

Her shy face turned into a wide grin as she pictured him going about this task for her, her right dimple advancing on the left as her mind progressed.

"Well, Dr. Grissom, I believe you are right!"

"Well, Miss Sidle, you are a true scientist!

"Where is a good place?" he asked.

"It's a 16 gallon tank which should be roomy and environmentally sound for them, but yet not too big to fit around here somewhere I hope."

She held up the water-filled plastic bag, studying the two fish for a minute.

"Um, my dresser? It's… it's in my bedroom."

Her voice had tapered.

"If you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'm going to need water and a bowl or pitcher or something like that."

He picked up the tank from where it had temporarily come to rest on her kitchen counter and followed her toward her sanctum.

"Oh yeah, there's one in the bathroom, I'll get started on that."

She headed into the bathroom after having first set the bag down in one corner of the still empty tank as soon as he had situated it on her dresser.

"Not too cold," she heard him voice from her bedroom

_Her bedroom._

"Gottit," she replied on her way in with the first pitcher-full of what was to become the new surroundings for her first 'pets' in ages.

_And not just any pets. Life…from Grissom.  
_

The plants were in and the various water treatments and ornaments had been added.

"Wow, it looks amazing, they're gonna be so psyched. Talk about a life altering moment."

She brought the top of her hand to the outside glass surface.

"Do you think they've adjusted to the temperature yet so we can let them out – or in, as the case may be?"

"Probably", he said as he watched her starting to untie the bag.

"Not like that," he said quickly appearing at her back and reaching around her to grab the bag last minute.

He hadn't sounded particularly harsh, but it had come out rather unexpectedly.

"You don't want to add the water they came with if you can help it," he convinced.

"Even if your tank hasn't cycled yet, you don't want to risk adding diseases from the old tank, or even worse -- possibilities of brown algae!" he added with a wink.

She didn't normally like to be told what to do, especially not in her own home, but she had sensed no malice in his voice.

"Good point," hand me the pitcher then, will you please.

"Certainly."

With a content blop-blop the two hydrophiles were in their new and pristine environment darting around a bit stressed, as was to be expected.

She sat down at the foot end of her bed as he turned on the tank light

"Is it working?"

"I think so," he concluded, as she stretched back and over toward the wall to hit the light switch.

"Oh yes, very nice!"

From the small walkway between the dresser and her bed he had tried to appraise his gift to her, to make sure nothing was missing.

"You can sit down, you know."

If she had really known she might not have suggested that.

"What are you going to name them?"

"Hmmm, well after that nasty place…something appropriate would be in order."

The ghastly image of Moby had entered her mind.

"The orange one kinda' looks salmon-colored, don't you think? Same intense orangey-pink color and all."

His face had contorted with skepticism.

"Do you really think they serve salmon over there? I'd be afraid to think how that could play out," he shuddered.

"Ahhh, clever minds think alike."

She smirked and turned to look at him, her gaze lingering a little too long.

"_Ella_, for the black one, _Salmon _and _Ella,"_ she said with pride, feeling awfully smug.

He pursed his lips to choke out the hopelessly silly grin he felt brewing right beneath the surface.

"_Salmon_ and _Ella_ it is then, only I hope not from first hand knowledge, for your sake."

He laughed while turning back to look at her.

"Very appropriate indeed Miss Sidle."

Her face had changed, it was more serious, expectant – hungry almost, and her eyes had darkened a shade or three.

"Thank you," she said.

"Nobody has ever done anything remotely comparable for me, _ever_."

She had wanted to say romantic, but it hadn't come out that way.

"Well, it was about time then," his hand had lifted to start cupping her chin while his eyes became more intently focused on the person in front of him.

The near darkness of the room was only interrupted by the crisp new light emanating from the fish tank and an oddly mysterious atmosphere was surrounding them as their worlds seemed to be shrinking and merging.

"Sara…?"

She looked at him, and then suddenly jumped back as she heard somebody at the door…

* * *

_Anno 2005_

* * *

Sitting up abruptly, she was panting and heaving for air.

"Shit!"

11:37 am - way early…

…

She laid back down, stressed and sweaty and stiff, trying to regain control over her breathing.

It had seemed so real. She couldn't really remember, but she knew it couldn't possibly have been just a dream?

_So why…?_

She felt old again.

Her water wasn't cold, but it nonetheless felt good making its way down her throat.

She pulled her sheet back around her, grabbed her large pillow and curled into a ball, hoping to drift off for another hour or two, her plush brown friend against her forehead.

_Moby never had asked her about Teddy… _

Good old Teddy guarding her secrets within through his faint residual smell of citrus.

"_It is not really about the pictures you paint Sara, it is about the pictures the colors will paint of you._

_Your painting is just your palette, you are the canvas."  
_

* * *

  
……………………………………………………………………..

To: "Sara Sidle" Subject: Thank You

……………………………………………………………………..

_Grissom:_

_I didn't get a chance to really thank you for everything you taught me during the T. Cesni case – I am honored. _

_It was really nice to see you again and I hope I get to work with you again, sometime in the near future._

_And…thank you for everything. _

'_Salmon' and 'Ella' are doing well,_

_we'll never forget you!_

_Sincerely,_

_Sara S._

_P.S. I'm sorry…_

* * *


	7. Black

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

_**Black**_

* * *

'_Blue eyes say, Love me or I die; black eyes say, Love me or I kill thee.'_

- Spanish Proverb

* * *

_Las Vegas - 2005_

* * *

  
She clenched her teeth fervidly; she was ignoring it.

Determined to ignore it.

Trying instead to go back to sleep, sleep she so desperately could use.

It was like everything else in her life; out of balance, humming along without efficiently fulfilling its purpose, yet still very much humming. If there was an alternate definition of fulfillment and existence anywhere it needed to come find her.

Soon.

The curtains were dark and still and actually somewhat useful, fairly resolute in gracefully dismissing the sunlight -- and life.

It was unfair of her, she knew, to unreasonably compare apples to oranges and throw a pity-party for herself.

'_Sara, why do you keep the sun out; what are you afraid of?'_

But it felt only natural to do so.

It was only too easy to forget that night was day and day was night when normal life would fit nowhere therein.

Maybe fulfillment could be defined as sunrays licking one's skin leaving a tinge of life behind?

If so, by definition, her normal routine of existence in the dark and sleeping through the sun was a dead end.

A lonely end.

Lifeless.

Everywhere, yet invisible, like a meandering creek throughout the black carpet that lay stretched out across her bedroom.

The water was everywhere and she didn't care, just could not bring herself to care.

She even stepped right into the cold wetness as if to say by way of the sole of her foot 'up yours and good riddance'.

Out of sheer fear of electrocution she _did_ turn on the overhead light and in one simple tug quickly unplugged the broken, but still incessantly humming, humidifier. All that devastation and the inert plastic entity were still humming, humming with an offbeat rhythm that had been driving her absolutely insane.

So she had killed it.

Or so she thought; kicked it to pieces in a momentary lapse of sanity.

_Yet all she had done was drain it._

She noticed now, under the scrutiny of the rapidly heat-emanating luminescent bulb above, that where in truth her carpet was actually _brown_ the water had made it look black in places, playing a trick on her sensory interpretation. And the curtains that to her had looked dark were indeed black, but warmed along their backs by the sun to yield a brownish hue.

It really was not a monochrome environment, rather an earthy and safe refuge.

'Home' just was not a word she associated with safety and comfort, so it rarely made it across her lips when simultaneously referencing the first person. Of course, the composition of her immediate surroundings was not news to her; she knew her safe haven by heart.

However, knowledge of what, _or whom_, may in part make up that refuge is not necessarily a bulletproof guarantee of safety or comfort.

_Living in blackness cannot always allow one to see what the living heart already sees fit to allow…_

* * *

"Okay, everything alright? Can I get you anything, food?"

"No"

"Sara…"

"I'm fine."

"But…"

"Really, I'm fine."

"Then why…"

"Please, just…I'm o... fine, okay?"

"…okay."

And that was the end of it, it always were.

The phone went silent.

She would assure, he would relent.

They sidestepped each other with mastery, performing to perfection in a game where there could be no winners, only what-ifs.

What if she just simply could not face him right now?

That was a change though, really, well no not really.

Her _actions_ were what had changed. She never called in sick, for any reason, and now she had.

She had relented.

He had spilled, opened his heart to her, in the brightness of her apartment after she had yelled and bickered.

He had assured.

_He had deserved the truth from her, but had she deserved the truth from him?_

She didn't know what to do, only that she couldn't face him with a mask of indifference and anger, _and guilt?_

She didn't feel she could face him at all, not anymore.

She didn't use to be like that.

She felt drained.

Just drained.

* * *

_San Francisco some eight years prior…_

* * *

  
The knock on the door had been like thunder from a blue sky, yet barely registering on the minds of two people just struck by lightening from cloud nine.

"Uh, I …I better go check on that" Sara said, somewhat uncertainly.

She made her way between her new fish tank and him, not a whole lot of room it seemed.

His knees folded over to the left to let her slide by easier just as her knee guided her right leg in a perfectly executed bypass maneuver, as if it were a most casual encounter.

Blocking the faint light illuminating his face for a brief second, the sensual silhouette of Sara's hips emerged out of the dimness like landscape upon sunrise.

_Her rumpled cotton tee made it almost all the way down to the rise of her jeans and -- oh, a long sleeved tee, sleeves pushed halfway up her arms revealing peach skin around long slender forearms; on anyone else it would have been a fitted shirt -- and he could guess that the slight dip he saw there on the horizon was her bellybutton. But he could only guess because as soon as the thought entered his heart the vision flew by his eyes leaving him with a; what now seemed harsh and intrusive, illumination against his flushed face. And then she was gone._

"Sara, glad you're home."

"Oh, yeah. Hi."

Surprised was just the beginning; he had never been to her apartment so far.

_This was going to be awkward, very much so actually._

"So…" she motioned for him to enter, she kind of had to.

"I…I didn't think I'd see you here," she said in an attempt at busying the silence.

"I was in the area and, well, really I was hoping you would be available to come downtown with me for a little while, I need you."

"I didn't hear the phone, but then again I've had a lot of trouble with the line lately. I swear I've had it with those guys and…"

"I didn't call Sara."

"Oh"

Now, this was getting a little weird and the butterflies that had been freed in her stomach not too long ago suddenly retreated, as if preparing for a dark and unpredictable storm.

Gil was listening intently.

Normally he would not be eavesdropping, but then normally he would not be in the bedroom of a beautiful woman; on the bed nonetheless, while said woman is in the next room with another male.

He really did not want to make himself known, but the voices on the other side of the wall carried emotions that could not be mistaken, nor taken light heartedly.

He knew the feeling; he had been there many a time.

It was the voice of a person trying to tell someone the truth in disguise, because baring it in its entirety is simply too difficult.

He also knew the voice.

"You should go ahead Sara, I'll find my way out, it's okay." Gil smiled at her encouragingly as he emerged from her bedroom.

She looked to both men, now standing equally distanced from her -- one between her and her way out and the other between her and her way in, so to speak.

The other man's face contorted with astonishment.

"Gil?"

Uttered more like a statement of surprise than a question.

"Moby," he countered, matter of fact, determined not to make Sara feel any more exposed than she clearly already did.

"Sounds serious. I'm still here until tomorrow at least, so if you need my help in any way you know my number."

"Yes, thanks Gil. We'll see how this one plays out. Rape. Actually we suspect a string of violent rapes, escalating in brutality, but same M.O."

"We've been chasing this guy for months now," Sara added.

"The guy seems to have an insatiable hatred of women, always going after women in their middle years, which is somewhat unusual. We have even started to look for his M.O. and a signature when processing murder scenes these days, we're sensing that he is escalating past his usual abuse only pattern."

Her emphasis on the word 'only' had been noticeable.

"I guess this time he _did_ do something different, if you have him in custody, something caused him to slip up."

Grissom was turning back into his work mode.

_He actually found that it had been turned off for a change_.

He prepared to offer to drive Sara on down to the station, but Moby beat him to it.

"I'll brief you on our way in, Sara."

The tone of her supervisor sounded regretful.

Grissom knew Moby well enough to know that something beyond rape and his commitment to a safer society had him worried, but he also knew him well enough not to ask.

"Hey, lighten up, looks like we finally may have the guy, right?"

Sara had not known Moby's glass to be half empty very often.

_Was he that troubled from finding Grissom in her company?_

That didn't really make a whole lot of sense, and he hadn't called.

Bob was never hesitant to call her?

His manners seemed off to her and it made her uneasy. Not to mention that during the 20-minute drive into town Bob was sure to touch on the fact that Grissom had been at her place, and at that had casually wandered out of her bedroom without so much as a wavering look.

* * *

_Anno 2005_

* * *

  
That uneasy feeling was back, the one squeezing your chest without any physical force involved. 

She was trying so hard to clear her head, to find some way to make sense of everything; of Grissom, of herself, and of their life – not _lives. _There was no way of defining one without the other.

Not anymore. Not a simple either or -- he had changed that.

Sleep had departed for now, she knew, and there was no sense in chasing after it to the point of utter exhaustion. That would be awkwardly counter-productive and more than just a little illogical.

She pulled out her desk chair, shuddering from the slight screeching noise that sounded as the slender wooden legs objected the changes by clawing the floor. _Those felt protectors that stick on and come sixteen to the pack were what it needed._ She made a mental note to go get some, but knew that she never would. Sara Sidle was locked in a world of semi-angst and uncertainty, and in that world they just would not fit.

Too muffled, too soft, too purposeful, too logical.

Slight static. Nothing much going on during the day, nothing in her world anyway. Break-ins and accidents, not murder and mayhem. Lighter crimes as opposed to darker ones. She turned her scanner back off and just sat there for a while; glancing over to her left at the photo she had allowed to see the light of day. The little person leaning on adult knees for support, seemingly without a worry in the world.

_What had happened? Where had the support gone?_

She no longer asked herself the former, only why.

The dark blue CD cover was empty, so she got up and reached across to the coffee table and swooped the remote on her way to the sink, landing her thumb on the soft rubber play button before filling a plastic cup half way. Jamming the cup between her thumb and index finger she still managed to clutch the remote while grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge. She got back to her desk and positioned herself on the chair before setting down the cup and closing her hibernating laptop, moving it over.

The chair didn't make a sound this time, it knew better.

All the colors she had used so far could be seen to some extent, although mostly they had run together, becoming new and different to the eye. Muddled and unclear. The blue and the yellow had mostly turned green, and the fire red had bled like red often does and stolen life from the green to become a dull brown. All in all the canvas that started out so pure had turned so dark, black almost.

She got out the brush, dipped it in the clear water and without discarding a single drop, lowered the hairs into the black well and swirled them round and round and round until bubbles appeared in their wake. She touched the rich black to any surface of the canvas that had felt the touch of the bristles in the past, leaving an area of sharp contrast as black met white head on. For the most part black won, outsurfacing the white.

If colors were to paint a picture of who she is, then black could not belong for black is not a color.

_Yet if black is not a color, then how come blackness can arise from colors?_

"_You see the world in black and white  
Not painted right  
You see no meaning to your life  
You should try  
You should try"_

_-- _Coldplay_, 'Low'_

* * *

_Some eight years prior…

* * *

_

As the county car rolled closer and closer toward the heart of San Francisco, Sara's heart drifted farther and farther away from it all.

_Bob had not even mentioned it, it had not been important; he had known it would not be what she would be worrying about. _

_Bob had said something that he had considered to be more important._

_Bob had said something that had been far more important._

_Bob had said something that was life altering._

_Bob had found her brother.  
_

* * *

July _– "The toad beneath the harrow knows _

_Exactly where each tooth-point goes; _

_The butterfly upon the road _

_Preaches contentment to that toad."_"

-Rudyard Kipling

* * *


	8. White

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_White_**

* * *

August – _"Far out at sea,--the sun was high, While veer'd the wind and flapped the sail, _

_ We saw a snow-white butterfly / Dancing before the fitful gale, Far out at sea."_

-Richard Hengist Horne

* * *

She was caught in a storm, drifting away with the current that was their '_un_relationship'.

Drifting from what had been a familiar plight for some time now.

_Grissom. _

The wave she was riding was one of attraction and excitement, yet also dangerously transverse from built up confusion.

Only this time it was _her_ turmoil adding to the wave-forming gusts, not his.

Her.

It felt new.

It felt different.

It felt oddly terrifying.

It felt surprisingly familiar.

It felt like _he_ must have felt all along...

'Never swim against the current. Swim parallel to the beach until free of the current, then head for the shore.'

* * *

_Las Vegas – anno 2005_

* * *

The bright piercing sunrays of the early morn caressed the slick stone tabletop before pointing its long fingers toward the ceiling above. Like a nervous lover's touch the fingers danced lightly across the flat painted surface, leaving no visible traces -- only slight warmth. Slowly tapping into her conscience the movement was bringing her back from the dark recollections of the previous night.

Night and day, black and white.

_She briefly wondered where she was, not used to waking with the rising sun._

There were no messages on her machine; yet she thought she could hear Grissom's voice pent up within the last few feet of the unplugged phone cord.

Her mind was playing tricks on her again

_If only her dreams were a figment of her imagination as well._

The white cable hung bowed over in defeat; nearly touching the black and white canvas from its vantage point atop her desk's shelving unit – just out of reach should she hold out her hand.

They were disconnected and this time she felt not angry, but scared.

Bridging the gap, his voice came through the air anyway. She sat up too fast, feeling her head screaming at the movement, and gazed intently at her answering machine.

"Sara…"

His voice was there again, but behind her; behind the front door.

_A muffled, but sincere voice -- conveying nothing but concern._

"Sara, please, I have been trying to call you. Talk to me."

She was panicking. She couldn't see him _now_, not yet.

What would she say?

What would _he_ say?

Was she ready for what he might _need_ to say?

And why was he there and why wasn't he angry with her?

And why…?

Just why … _what_ was going on with her?

He had finally started opening up to her, _and himself,_ and now she was shutting him out?

Was it too late, was that why

_It never could be too late for them, could it?_

She curled her legs up to her chest and hugged them so tightly that breathing became difficult. Then she stared, stared in earnest; chin on her knees she stared intently at the door, willing it to open by itself.

She was trembling.

"I know you are hurting, and confused. Scared."

_He sounded sad._

She thought she could picture his forehead against the door the way his voice sounded against the wooden barrier, as if he were part of it.

"This is my doing, may be my undoing even, and I know that and I also know that I cannot fix all the wrongs that I have done or…"

"—I love you…"

The door felt cool against her pounding forehead. And just like that her own voice settled her insecurities -- she still loved him.

_I really do… _

She had quivered a bit as the unexpected wave had washed over her, leaving three little words in its wake.

_Would she drown now?_

Her voice felt like it could have carried all the way to the shore.

_Maybe if she swam just a little bit farther she would be safe? _

Her head was resting against the door, feeling him -- without facing him.

_Without touching him._

An inch and a half of inanimate safety was keeping them apart.

Long fingers slid along the smooth surface, estimating his outline, caressing his face and stopping at the source of his voice.

"…always."

_She was still breathing, still alive._

"Can I come in…please?"

His voice was calm.

"No"

"Please Sara, I…"

"No." Her voice sounded regretful and heavy.

"You will get hurt again, I'm…good at that."

_She had hurt him, had she thought him immune?_

"We're_ booth_ good at that Sara."

_That was true._

"Yeah."

He felt her slip away, based on the slight give of the door. Sinking down in front of it he was taken aback when sensing something against his left buttock. Quickly turning he noticed the movement from under the door. He took hold of the paper emerging from Sara's side and held on to the edge as it moved toward him, knowing she was holding the other end.

"This is me," she said through the door with a slight chuckle that withered prematurely.

He looked at the mostly black surface of the canvas paper, noting the slight presence of underlying colors within the swirls.

_She was reaching out to him._

"I like the swirl patterns and the opacity," he said, standing again and looking right at the door.

"They look unique and passionate and strong. Did _you_ do this?"

"My dark personality," she stated, making fun of nothing in particular – herself maybe.

"I didn't know you paint."

"I don't, isn't that obvious?"

"No."

His direct answer surprised her.

_  
She realized she had somehow stopped shaking._

Carefully she undid the safety chain, then the lock itself.

She slid down against her bathroom wall behind the door, chin resting on knees once again.

He turned the knob while pushing on the door gently, expecting to see her curled up in her sofa chair like some sort of déjà vu.

_  
She was not there. _

He took a few hesitant steps, before turning to close her door, painting in one hand.

He saw her then.

He didn't think she could look any slighter.

"I feel better now that I see you."

And he did.

At that she looked up, as if the unexpected words had brought her out of her trance temporarily.

He sat down, leaning against the inside of the door, not really wanting to bombard her with questions.

_Just sitting there next to her would suffice at this point._

He let his left hand rest briefly on her forearm giving her a confirmatory squeeze, but otherwise joined her to become lost in thought.

"Sorry…"

"Yeah, me too…"

He wasn't sure how long they had been sitting like that, but he had started getting a bit entranced himself from watching the sunlight bouncing around in the ceiling, when she loosened the grip on her knees and finally decided to break the silence.

"You know - it's very important in life to know when to shut up. You should not be afraid of silence."

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and worry.

"Oh, not _you_. I mean -- have you ever watched 'Jeopardy'?"

Grissom's brows lifted as he turned to look at her, puzzled.

"Well, yes -- occasionally."

"Occasionally, really?" _For some reason that made her feel enthusiastically giddy._

She pictured him going for the bottom answer and up, the confident and sensible approach to maximizing your earnings.

"Well, Alex Trebek - you know; the host, used to always say that it was important to know when to shut up.

_She contemplated how to go on from there._

"So… I guess, you know, thanks… for listening to my silence. And for returning it and, um I… it's just that I am lost; I don't know what's happening with me right now – where I stand."

She almost wanted to admit to a sense of embarrassment for the way she had gone off on him earlier, but decided not to humiliate herself any further.

"Well," he said, while gazing philosophically into the shallow depth that was her apartment.

"I am really comfortable with silence, it's ingrained in me. Actually, I am really at a loss without the promise and knowledge that silence exists around me."

Sara's eyes reflected her admiration for his honesty – he rarely shared much of himself voluntarily, if ever.

"My mom is deaf."

A small part of him still felt uneasy sharing that fact, which he knew was unfair both in regards to his mother and Sara. It also made him think of all of herself that Sara had shared with him. 

Warm brown eyes were tender, yet devoid of pity, as she looked to him connecting on a level they had not accepted in a very long time.

"…but nobody hears you more clearly than she does, right?"

That was Sara. Honest, kind, understanding – beauty complete.

He smiled at her then and she returned the favor.

No, it wasn't a favor – it was a gift she was giving him, every time she smiles.

There was a sense of renewal and relief, they both felt it.

He mockingly turned his back to her, if only for a second, and then whirled around to meet her eyes.

"Sara Sidle!"

His eager tone was one she recognized instantly, if only because she had replayed the day she came to Vegas in her mind a million times. An even wider smile took hold then.

"That's me!"

She looked down, eyes landing on Grissom's feet – his legs where crossed and stretched out on the floor in front of him. Then she stole his line, using the same introspective voice as he had done back then.

"God Grissom, I have so many unanswered whys…"

She looked into his blue eyes, feeling almost … shy.

_Was it because of the question itself or was it because she had turned it around on him?_

* * *

_Las Vegas - anno 2000

* * *

_

­­

"God Sara, I have so many unanswered whys…"

She admitted to herself that she did too; her heart told her that much and her smile, as well as the one he had presented, hadn't really hidden it she suspected. But the case had to take priority right now, there would always be 'later'.

Normally his team worked the graveyard shift, which is what she had been advised when he had called her to make arrangements for her 'visit'. She was convinced that Bob; as busy as the San Francisco low-life had been lately, was sending her to Las Vegas for a couple of weeks because he owed Grissom. That and; she had already worked with the man after all.

Their 'incident', however innocent, in her apartment that one time a few years back, had been largely unresolved.

Not that there really was anything to resolve, but the three of them had not spent any time together, in the same room, since that day. Her past had resurfaced and turned her world upside-down with that ride downtown, and Grissom had unknowingly returned to Las Vegas as scheduled the next day. She had never told him any of the more intimate details, and the case had only been briefly discussed when wrapping up their T. Cesni case via conference call a couple of days later.

Being that he had already been out on a case when she had arrived from McCarran this afternoon, she had decided to head on out and see if she could assist him in any way.

She also wanted desperately to see him of course.

So, this was the first time they had seen each other since that unusual day two years back.

The two weeks had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions, at least in regards to her time spent with LVPD, Graveyard.

Then again she had never expected an internal investigation to be a walk in the park.

Her time spent with Grissom, however, had actually included a walk in a park and a rollercoaster ride.

The fact that the man seemed obsessed with rollercoasters and that their walk was actually in that amusement park, only made him that much more adorable to her. He had said he was just showing her the highlights of the city now that she would be working there. She thought that through more than once before her curiosity got the better of her.

"Well, I'm not planning on getting lost during any of my remaining three days here thank you -- you guys have been excellent chaperones despite probably wanting me to get lost half the time!"

She covered a nervous chuckle pretty convincingly.

I  
n stark contrast Grissom looked at her like she was speaking in foreign tongue. And she was, in his mind anyway.

He hadn't even asked her to stay on yet, but somehow his mind was already taking pleasure in knowing she would be there.

"Right."

_Brilliant Gil, you always know exactly what to say…_

"Well, actually, how would you feel about staying?"

She wasn't quite as successful in hiding her wide-eyed look of surprise this time.

"Staying on the job as a part of my team, we…are short one person."

_That was not how his mind had proposed the plea._

"Uh, I…I think Bob would make your team short one supervisor."

_Stay calm Sidle, think on your feet -- light, think light thoughts._

He seemed relieved at her light answer.

"Moby owes me, besides; it would give him a great excuse to come to Vegas – he always tells me I've got the better deal."

Her face took on an amused expression.

"So what makes you think giving me up will make him think you have less of a good deal?"

"Mmmm…"

"What was that?"

I  
f that wasn't the silliest smirk she had sent. She was flirting openly now, but just couldn't help it.

"I never said I would get less of a good deal and… do I have to have a reason?"

His right eyebrow settled high on his forehead lifting the corner of his mouth with it.

"No, but you do have one, don't you?"

_It was a rhetorical question really, but oh how much fun!_

"I have more than one."

* * *

_Las Vegas - anno 2005_

* * *

  
The sunlight in Sara's apartment had diffused into a broad source of light, illuminating the whole area and highlighting the pink of her lips. He loved her lips, especially when they were turned upward exposing a dimple or two, like had been the case for a good deal of the time they had been sitting there talking about days passed.

They had come to some sort of silent agreement that looking back at the good times, and the bad, would be a necessary step to… move into the future.

After she had explained how her PEAP counselor had suggested she express herself through a self-portrait of symbolic colors, he had returned her black and white painting to her.

"You know, black and white are not considered colors, so you really would not be cheating… and giving it to me now really suggests you have given up on your heart…and… I refuse to accept that."

"How do I start over without losing who I am, who I used to be…? I, um – don't know what to do to get there, you know?"

_What if I lose pieces of me I can't afford not to keep?_

"I'd like to be there – to help you, to share…with you. If you will let me."

He gazed at her with what could only be recognized as love, before inhaling to prepare to speak.

"_The snow goose need not bathe to make itself white. _

_Neither need you do anything but be yourself."_

Right then, quoting ancient wisdom, he knew he would have taken back all the hurt that he had caused her if he thought he could.

And then he would obliterate the rest of her pain, even if he couldn't…

"—Lao Tse"

_A sad smile quivered on his lips._

S  
he made a move to turn herself around slightly to face him.

"—Ouch! I can hardly move…?"

At that she felt more disappointment than pain.

"…how long have we been sitting here like this?"

Sara seemed to have come to the sudden realization that they were seated on her floor against the wall sharing moments they had once lived, and some they hadn't.

But they were sharing.

"Well, my butt's numb – so the bottom line suggests…."

"—Grissom!"

Her eyes widened in disbelief, as the corners of her mouth followed.

She rolled her eyes before slowly standing up, then offered her hand to pull him to his feet.

Observing him through narrow deviant eyes, she contemplated slapping his butt to see if it actually was as numb as he claimed, but she instead made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Coffee?

"Coffee sounds good."

He looked to her and realized those had been their exact words when they had met over ten years ago.

_And now they had met all over again._

* * *


	9. Orange

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Orange_**

* * *

****"_Orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow."_

- Kandinsky

* * *

_Las Vegas - anno 2005_

* * *

  
"Have you ever…escaped somewhere when you felt you couldn't deal with something? I mean, _if_ you felt you couldn't deal with something?"

Sara noticed Grissom's eyes narrowing as she spoke, but not in a way that jeopardized this new openness they shared.

"Okay, _when_ you felt you couldn't deal with something."

She couldn't keep her eyes from rolling as her right cheek dimpled slightly. The one time previously he had been seated on her couch she hadn't been in a frame of mind to notice how it suited him. Now, with the slight orange glow from her curtains making his cheeks appear flushed, it seemed strangely obvious.

He sipped his coffee slowly, as if to ensure time itself there was no reason to hurry.

"Yes, I have."

Grissom couldn't help but taunt her a bit, even when the topic deep down was difficult -- probably _because_ of it. They could get away with that now, it was a new twist in their 'un-relationship', a silently agreed upon turn toward safer waters.

_Two days had gone by since he had knocked on her door, before beginning his day off, to confess to her his biggest mistake. _

_  
Two hours and then some had gone by since she had realized her own mistakes and told herself, and him, that she still loves him. _

She hadn't meant it to be spoken aloud, but it had been a door opener, literally, where the various reasons that had kept doors closed for so long had seemed less important all of a sudden.

Those reasons were stashed away in the different places the mind had sought refuge over the years, and now it was time 'to clear hawse' so to speak, in order to sail onward.

They'd at least give it a try… 

"Uh, okay. And…??"

Her keen expression made him purse his lips to contain an unsuitable smirk.

"And…I think _you_ brought this up."

_He always had been a smart-ass…_

His face seemed gentle, as it always did when he allowed his eyes to venture above the metal boundary of his glasses, pleading almost.

"I should have anticipated that one, huh? My time to escape I guess," she verified with a self-conscious smirk.

Biting her lower lip she continued.

"Um...I've found I don't know how to deal with a lot of things, a lot of the time, so yeah... I've basically perfected the art of escaping, you know?"

She glanced at him quickly before expanding upon that thought.

"Not that you _wouldn't..._know at this point."

Her faint smile was reflected in his eyes.

"So, when I was, you know...back then, before all of the stuff happened, I would picture in my mind this little red cottage out in the middle of nowhere somewhere, and I would go there because it silenced all the fighting."

He felt the corners of his mouth drop, but kept his eyes on her.

"It was a nice place to escape to. Probably started out because a girl down my street had just gotten a play house that sat in their yard and I wanted one I guess, but I remember she had all her friends in it and if I had one it would be only for me and nobody would be allowed in it--"

Her mug came to her lips, but was unconsciously lowered with no coffee having parted.

"--to play. My house was not for play. It could be tied to nothing and nobody because it had to come with me, and it did. After the...blood on the wall, it must have felt too red or something, 'cause I remember it as having green windows and a green door too after that, you know? Like it wanted to be different, but still the same."

He nodded, but let her go on.

"My mind almost drowned there once. It just seemed like it would never stop raining on my life; like I couldn't escape anywhere without taking the tears with me...and my red refuge didn't feel safe anymore as flooding outside threatened to trap me inside. I was stuck in a pit just waiting for it to fill and become a lake."

_No more crying, Sidle, there was no lake because you stopped crying._

She took a deep breath helped by his sense of calm.

"And then I learned to swim, lugged my weathered mind-bound shelter with me to New England when going to Harvard, situated its foundation in a sloping forest – a place inhospitable to lakes, and didn't revisit that mindset for a long time."

He feared the answer…but also knew she needed to admit to it.

"What made you go back?"

_He _did, and she knew that he knew…

Her eyes sought him out before looking away.

"Sara...I'm sorry. Will you help me help you clear the hurt away?"

Her face softened.

"No. I mean...yes I will, but no, you can't take it all away."

She sighed serenely, finally feeling a sense of relief.

"You also brought me fall; a beautiful season of yellow and orange -- hope that brightened my life making red seem warmer and green fresher, my season for harvest. You're that comfort my mind...and heart…were ultimately seeking while hiding behind imaginary walls."

His eyes glazed from a gradual sense of déja-vu.

…_September, fall, yellow, change_… _Change._

Sara's hand-written September sentiment...the calendar she'd personalized for graveyard's gift-exchange last Christmas...for him.

"September is the first month of fall...you--"

Lingering awkwardness grew into a soft Sidle-smile.

"--So, _have_ you ever escaped somewhere when you felt you couldn't deal with something?"

"Yes...I have."

Dark blue eyes observed her intently.

"Uh--not going to work this time Grissom, please tell me you've escaped _somewhere_ for _something_?"

_He looked...enlightened?_

He smiled peacefully; a sincere end to their honest beginning.

"--I couldn't deal without _you_ anymore, so I came _here_."

* * *

"September – _'If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies._"

* * *


	10. Cobalt Blue

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

_**Cobalt Blue**_

* * *

October - _"I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man"_

-Chuang Tzu

* * *

_Las Vegas - anno 2005_

* * *

_  
'I couldn't deal without you anymore, so I came here.'  
_

He had verbalized his thoughts and somehow it had felt right this time, maybe because he had known what he was thinking before she did.

That worked both ways of course, but when it came to areas involving the heart she usually had one up on him, although they both had tendencies to let words slip the tongue without ever having intended them to. This time, however, was not a slip and he had known what he wanted to say.

_He had quite possibly arrived with intentions. _

Sara telling him about her mind's refuge had unbeknownst to her helped him verbalize his thoughts in a context that she would likely understand.

They always had known how to finish each other's sentences, now hadn't they?

_Sara_… _She looked rather angelic sitting in her sofa chair outlined by the soft sunlight in the background, her cheeks slightly flushed. __The one time previously he had observed her seated in that chair he hadn't been in a frame of mind to notice how absolutely lovely she was, now it seemed strangely obvious. He couldn't help but notice the familiar squeeze in his chest. _

_Only this time not because he was missing someone, but due to the presence of that very someone._

_Due  
Due to__  
Due to her_  
_Due to Sara  
Do…to her  
Do…to__  
Do…_

--and he did.

An intended slip of the tongue—or rather, tongues…

_And, did they ever know how to finish each other's sentences!_

* * *

  
The first time he ever truly allowed himself to see Sara, his eyes were closed.

And after that first time kissing Sara, he finally understood why the drawn-out internal struggle of whether or not to risk getting close to her; touching her; receiving from her what she could not take back, had been neither here nor there.

The answer was written ever so clearly in those subtle rosy features playing across that, now, devilish and grinning face looking back up at him.

Confidence. Harmony. Trust.

_That_ was why.

Just by allowing himself to at last_ see_ her passion and taste her feelings, he had realized he would be taking no risk at all.

No, this was about something much broader than weighing the odds and calculating the possible rewards and losses involved; as if a pair of dice rolling haphazardly within the boundaries of an unidentified Vegas crap table.

'This' was about investment; an investment involving rewards which would most certainly outweigh the losses and from which natural progression could open up limitless possibilities for a future -- _their_ future.

'This' was no longer about _taking_ risks, but rather about _accepting_ rewards – a whole new concept to him, a whole new science.

How would he change and learn to accept change without changing too much?

'_This' was about—_

"—Gris…"

His blank stare quickly refocused on the source of the soft reverberation; Sara's lips.

"…can I come with you, wherever you are?"

He was reading her lips much like that night after the explosion when she had smiled and said what he had wanted to say ever since.

Following Sara's profile upward, until brown melded with blue, nothing but color could distinguish the discerning expression between them until his eyes again fell to her moving lips.

"Share with me, bring me with you -- tell me what you are thinking."

His eyes took in what she was saying when he realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts once more.

_Thinking…always thinking._

Even as the woman engaging his mind were sitting directly in front of him, even as the cool sheen of her could still be felt on his bottom lip, he was thinking.

It had to stop.

Since his one taste of her his physical senses had overpowered him and blurred his thoughts, leaving him in a mixed state of drunken euphoria and indescribable conflict.

"-- It's…overrated."

His right foot moved consistently from curling and uncurling his toes within the confines of his loafer, an unconscious distraction.

Sara's expression instinctively fell a bit before taking a deep breath and attempting to relax her shoulders.

"What is? What is overrated?"

"-- Thinking"

His hands found his pockets, a familiar calming feel eventually permitting his restless foot to slow, emotions stirring.

"When I think, I analyze…everything."

With the frenzied feel of a revelation in progress, the words spilled quickly; so as not to be swallowed and digested.

"-- I analyze words, I analyze scents, flavors, visuals, I analyze sounds -- and _silence_; I spend too much time questioning the silence.

And for all the comfort that silence possesses, I cannot find any answers. I cannot find the answers."

Barely a whisper, uttered at the tail end of a sigh, was audible as his unfocused stare fell past hers to a spot on the floor near her feet.

" So…why, then? Why am I still thinking?"

He caught his breath and having put himself on the spot resembled a child fearing the wrath of a teacher's stick, leaving his eyes wide and glassy and yearning.

Sara stood up from her chair and directly into his space, while gently placing her right hand over his opposite pant pocket. His startle, a response to his own reaction rather than to her touch directly, made him press up against her ever so briefly. Closing her hand around his fingers, much like a last clockwise turn of a faucet, she stilled the movement – quieting the tap-tap sound of his thoughts, leaving nothing but silence between them.

They simply stood like that, facing the silence and each other, settling into an intense alternating rhythm of inhale and exhale as they breathed the other's partially spent air.

In…  
…out.

Back…  
…forth.

O2…  
…CO2.

His…  
…hers.

A fear of the unknown…mingled with the slightest warmth from the other's hand through the cotton material…mingled with a slight dizziness.

In some ways he had gone through this before, with his hearing. Deafening silence interspersed with slight bleeps of reality – his life almost within earshot.

Only this time the fear was no longer of himself; _well – it was_, but no longer _for_ himself, and this time life was almost within reach – just a few more lungful breaths.

Thinking of what to say, the muscles in his mouth began trembling, as if to say _something_ -- his lips tensing; he was stressed, confused and determined.

Yet she placed her left middle finger gently to his lips, shaking her head briefly, before proceeding, all the while looking in his eyes. The back of her now bent finger slid up and over the tip and bridge of his nose; her short fingernail gliding effortlessly, only to straighten and bring her palm to rest barely a hair's width from his forehead.

_His breath on her wrist sent shivers through her, but this wasn't about her – not yet. _

Seeing that she had his undivided attention she carefully brought her five hovering fingers down across his face, meandering from the median and exploring each and every feature with the tantalizing friction of skin on skin. As her fingers bridged his lips he instinctively opened his mouth to taste her, hungry for her, but her hand slowly progressed downward molding with the cleft in his chin as she again shook her head – instead squeezing his pocketed hand.

His hands emerged from the cocoon of his pockets and she gently took hold of his left wrist, guiding him to the vicinity of her face and nodding softly when his eyes flickered from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

What must have been mere seconds in time could only be described as a moment in time -- a defining moment after which confidence, harmony and trust would no longer be unfamiliar faceless expressions.

At first she shuddered, his fingers no doubt tickly, his touch too light. But as her breath became more forceful the feel of it against his skin made his hand seek the closeness possessively. She kissed the underside of his fingers as they slid down over her mouth, bringing her own exploring hand down the slope of his neck to linger over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat was felt through her palm the same way she thought she could hear his heart releasing years of built up tension.

He must have felt it too, and at the loss of his fingers on her lips she opened her eyes, kissed his lower lip tenderly and looked at him.

"Thank you for sharing your silence with me."

And there it was; the intense fire that made his eyes as unique as cobalt blue when backlit by the brilliant rays of the sun.

It was the same cobalt that she had seen briefly ten years ago, the blue she had not been able to successfully paint; unable to imitate the radiant light…  
It was that cobalt that inspired spontaneity ten years ago and yet had tinted her vision ever since, making everything a dull blue.  
It was the blue of the sunlit ocean, of butterflies, of the outline surrounding a full moon on a starry night.  
It was memories and longing, anger and fire, pain and sadness, lust and hope.  
It was the color that, no matter how faint, was visible…  
It was the color she knew by heart.  
It was elemental.  
It was…Gil.

* * *

_Charleston - some eight years prior…_

* * *

_"Um…hi. __Silence. I…, I know you're not home yet, so…but I wanted to thank you for the magnolias, I… That was so kind of you! - Oh, this is Sara. I just really love magnolias you know, they really smell sooo good and are really special. - To __me I…. Sorry you couldn't stay a little longer, it's really nice down here you know, and I walked around a bit today and, -after the conference, and I…I got you something at the Market, nothing big, just…it reminded me of you. Sooo, um…maybe someday we could – __BEEEEP._

_…get together."  
_

Sara hated answering machines, hated them. They never let you say what you wanted to say, and never told you what you wanted to hear – if they ever told you anything at all…

She slumped down on her squeaky, but beautiful, Planter's Inn bed and looked over to Teddy where he sat, propped against the blue glass jar, none the wiser.

It had been so perfect, so very perfect up and until this point...

…She had been a tad wistful after parting with Grissom's magnolias and seeing them float away one by one had brought a tear to her eye.

That had quickly changed to a chuckle, however, as she had come upon, _or rather the other way around really_, one of the many horse-drawn carriages making their rounds in and around the Battery area. The large dappled grey had taken a keen interest in her as she had started her stroll back to the hotel, although lost in thought it had taken a sudden tug on her duffle bag for her to notice.

"Gilbert, what the h… ho. HO!" The voice behind her was becoming stern and frantic, then sincerely apologetic.

"Ma'am, I am sorry, really sorry. He's usually curious'n all, but minds and is very well trained. I don't know what got into him. You okay?" The lanky gentleman jumped out from the carriage that had now finally come to a steady halt. Sara couldn't help but giggle, to the relieved surprise of the beast's master.

"Handsome fella' you got there, so he's a curious one, huh? I'm not surprised!" She looked over to the harnessed 'muscles-on-legs' a few feet away and the steed still seemed more than just a little interested in her.

"Danny," said the driver and offered his hand.

"Gilby here really likes you I reckon…which is understandable, certainly." His face a shade darker, he looked down and then over to his horse.

"Well, thank you, really, but…I think _this_ may be why his mind wandered." Sara chucked her duffle bag and undid the zipper to reveal a messy mash of partially brown yellow apple-halves. "Don't ask, but yes; they are perfectly fine to eat – for Gilbert here anyway, he doesn't look too picky. May I?" She raised an eyebrow for emphasis, knowing that most guys had a week spot for that little quirk of hers. _One in particular came to mind._

"Oh certainly Ma'am, but let's take him back to the city stables so he doesn't get any clever ideas in the future while 'on the job'. We're located right across from the Market, may we take you wherever you were going first? It is the least we can do."

"Uh, sure – yes that would be very nice, thank you. The Market sounds perfect."

Once in his stall, after having inhaled half a dozen apples faster than Sara thought possible, Gilbert inquisitively stretched his neck as far as it would go and poked his pinkish velvet muzzle out to her in an investigative fashion. Tilting his massive head slightly to the right, he plastered a big wet lick right smack across her face. Recovering from the initial surprised jump back and a quick once-over, Sara tried to suppress a foolish grin while looking Gilbert straight in the face. _If only…if only!_

A rather purple Danny gave the affectionate equine his worst possible scowl followed by a pluck on the nose, neither of which seemed to have been noticed by the grey giant. "Uhm, he…he, Gilbert here doesn't usually…ah, clean people either. I am beyond embarrassed and again I'm really very—"

"—That's okay, Danny. I am honored to have been the first girl he's kissed in a while!"

With a goofy grin Sara unceremoniously wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, thanked both Danny and Gilbert for the entertaining sojourn, grabbed her soggy duffle bag and headed on back toward the hotel via the myriad of knick-knacks the Market had to offer.

And that's when she had spotted it.

The sun was shining through it making the unique blue color come alive, and she could almost feel the butterflies in her stomach stirring. She'd seen it before, in Grissom's eyes – and he had definitely made her come alive. _Oh yeah…_

The old quart size cobalt blue glass jar had a two-part type lid consisting of a zinc outer rim and a square greenish copper wire mesh inner liner, and the whole jar looked like it had weathered slightly through time and use. It did have a small chip off the bottom and off the lip indicating that the tag _'Cobalt Blue Mason CFJCo IMPROVED - Bug Jar, $65,-' _was probably fairly accurate for the money. Either way, it was absolutely perfect for him and she was getting it.

_It was priceless._

* * *

_Anno 2005

* * *

_

Sara's mouth pulled into a smile again; as they had after the very first time he had kissed her only a few minutes ago. He traced her smile, admiring how something so winning could have been lost for so long and still endure.

"Thank you. For being you…and for knowing me. None of which I have made very easy over the years…" His somber voice also held a trace of promise.

"No you haven't…" Sara's expression showed her as far away, thinking.

Reminiscing perhaps.

"Sara…may I come with you, wherever your thoughts have taken you?"

His eyes had fired up again, intensely searching her face for clues; afraid they had lost what headway they had just made over the last few days. With what could only be explained as desperate urgency he cupped the sides of her face and kissed her a little less lightly than he would have liked, tilting her head upward to make her look at him.

As if shaken out of her reverie, her eyes widened in response as silence settled over them once again.

She responded.

The same passion and need was evident in her as she lost herself in him for a brief moment before regaining control, carefully covering his hands with hers and guiding them from her face. Holding on just a little bit longer she cherished the firm warm feel of his hands before letting go. As she turned to walk away he moved to stop her, but she shook her head, smiled, and mouthed 'I'll be right back.'

Once in her bedroom she took one last look at Teddy where he sat resting in his usual spot up against the glass jar on her dresser. She grinned boldly as she picked him up and moved him over to her bed, placing him on the pillow next to her own.

"Time for some changes Teddy, hope you're okay with that?"

Grissom looked utterly lost, _but adorably so she decided_, where he stood in her living space trying not to look at nothing and everything all at once.

"—Um…hi. Obviously you're not at home, so…but I wanted to thank you for kissing me senseless. I just really…like you, you know, you are really special. - **To _me_.** I…hope you can stay a little longer, it would be really nice, and maybe we could have…dinner or something? I…got you something at the Market the other day, uh – year. Nothing big, just…it reminded me of you."

His whole face was smiling upon recognition; mouth quivering and eyes shimmering, as she gave him the cobalt blue bug jar she had held on to for so long.  
_He too, had been unable to forget._

"Sooo, um…maybe someday we could…get together."

* * *

"_For nothing is as soothing as a lake of cobalt blue / And nothing as alluring as the two possessed by you"_

* * *


	11. Pomegranate Red

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Pomegranate Red_**

* * *

"_No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees/No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!"_

–Thomas Hood

* * *

If Sara had known that the Genie lived in a blue bug jar, she probably would have released its magic sooner…

Thirteen days, twelve dinners, mostly at his or her place, countless conversations and an infinite number of lip locks and embraces had gone by since 'the jar', as they had affectionately come to dub the occasion. They had slowly begun to regain some of the lost trust and comfort years of emotional avoidance and hurt had caused, discovering how liberating physical closeness could be when not forbidden – nor expected.

In a somewhat awkward moment that first night, while trying to decide on what to eat for their first official dinner 'date', they had both decided it would not be each other.

–_Not yet. _

The tension had dissipated as nervous laughter and had solidified the mutual agreement in signaling some common ground; ground they had stood comfortably on for the couple of weeks that had passed since.

Tension had mounted, however, from especially stressful cases over the last couple of days with the CSI's emotions and tempers flaring within the team. Yet in the end you suck it up and move on, like any family would – _or at least should…_

With his chin resting lightly on the top of Sara's head, arms folded over her shoulders, they settled into the corner of the couch for 'The Maltese Falcon'. Another tradition to come out of the jar – dinner and a movie. They made it past the credits this time before Grissom's mind wandered from the San Francisco on the small screen to the San Francisco in the bigger picture.

"What…became of Tim after I, uh – did you see him again?"

Grissom's face revealed a certain level of sheepishness, but the question had posed itself in his mind on numerous occasions. Tim had after all been some sort of a trigger for his actions back then.

"Tim who?"

Sara was too comfortable right now to start digging into the past, even if this matter wasn't a really big deal. She snuggled closer hoping he would pick up on that very fact.

"Sara…"

He knew her, and like always she was trying to avoid touching on past issues. However the past had made her who she was, good and bad, and could not be suppressed forever.

_She had after all gone down that treacherous road before – and they may as well start a new and safer road together._

"Oh, you mean the romantic whose red roses were shamelessly stolen by some visiting entomologist who considered this romantic a 'bug'; one the visiting entomologist actually did _not_ approve of?"

With a half grin in Grissom's direction she was hoping he'd leave it at that.

_He had ignored her desire to leave the past well enough alone at the moment, thus she would call him on his past actions –_ _not like he didn't deserve it_.

"I guess I deserved that, but yes, that would be the one I was thinking of. That many, huh?"

Using her right elbow against his stomach, more forcefully than necessary, she half turned around to speak directly to his face.

"Yeah, he sailed off into oblivion with _all_ the others, must have sensed stormy conditions ahead…"

"—or love in the air perhaps?"

He smirked at her eye roll as she sank back down into position to reconnect her eyes with the familiar images moving across the screen.

"Gee, where has that confidence been hiding all this time? On second thought don't answer that, I really don't want to know."

"I will answer anyway, as I may actually surprise you!"

He brushed her hair back behind her ear and continued.

"—I was so sure you were going to ask me to stay in San Francisco for a few days more and work your big rape case with you; at the time you seemed so eager. But, when you didn't, and Moby gave no indication he needed my help either, I started to think I had overstepped my boundaries and time and distance again allowed me to convince myself I had been right…"

He felt Sara's body tense, jaw setting and clenching.

"…but I wasn't."

He bent down and kissed her neck gently.

"And for that I am sorry."

"So am I."

The defeat in her tone was not lost on him, but he had no way of knowing the extent of just how wrong he had been.

She sat up, wanting to get away but craving his closeness.

Drop it, please – just drop it…

"—Seth Schneider. Prayed on middle-aged women; raped them and killed one for no apparent reason."

He half expected her to chime in.

Sara said nothing.

"I should have called you when I heard the case was going to court, I was…proud of you, you know."

"You had nothing to be proud of" Her voice was monotonous and tense – shaky.

"Let's just watch the movie, okay – please?"

If he could have seen her distant, worried expression and white-knuckled fists he would have known to just hold her, but in his own way he was just trying to comfort her by reassuring her.

"—Your work helped put him behind bars for good, even if you couldn't provide a solid case for each and every victim. You're too hard on yourself, Sara, he can't hurt anybody now, you know that, right?"

Wrong…

Her relief of learning he didn't know the intimate details of the case quickly turned to despair as she realized that at this point in their relationship he deserved to know.

She needed him to know, she just hadn't thought today would be the day.

The nausea came over her in an instant, along with the pressure behind her eyes, and she pushed off of him and ran for her bathroom – the past coming up in spurts of burning acid and bitter taste, unpleasant as ever across her tongue as she sank down in front of the toilet.

Grissom immediately went after her, the horrid sounds of retching echoing through the open hallway, muffled only slightly by the bathroom door.

"—Sara?"

The flush of the toilet could only mask her quiet sobs momentarily.

"Honey, what's wrong? Can I come in?"

He knew the door was unlocked, but the threshold still meant more to him than a mere practical obstacle – it was a boundary he did not want to overstep.

Just as the silence was about to open the door for him Sara's unsteady voice sounded from the other side.

"Just…give me a minute, okay, to…clean up."

She sounded out of breath.

"Are you alright?"

…why do people always feel the need to ask that, when reality has just been demonstrative to the contrary?

At the sound of water pounding the tub Grissom headed back to the couch, blankly staring at the TV screen and wondering what had just transpired. They hadn't even eaten yet so she shouldn't be sick. Was it something he had said? Was it him?

After ten minutes of watching the muted television set he could take no more; he couldn't even hear any water running.

She had left the door pulled to, but not shut – a narrow red glow from within forming a neon-like outline, a perpendicular beacon.

**-  
---**  
Red.  
Red light.  
Red shadows.  
Red shadowy eyes.  
Red teary eyes staring.  
Staring at a red candle.  
Candle light flickering.  
Flickering shadows.  
Shadows of Sara.  
Sara in red.  
Red flame.  
A flicker.  
**------  
**

"Sara, honey?"

His voice was uncharacteristically laden.

After pushing the door open slightly when she didn't answer him, what he saw before him was hauntingly beautiful – an emotionally loaded vision his mind would never forget.

The normally neutral bathroom was awash in glowing red light radiating down from the elliptical heat lamp above. It would almost have been gloomy if not for the dancing shadows cast by a lone, lit red scented jar-candle adorning the bathtub rim.

Sara was stretched out in the tub, corner to corner in the relative darkness, gazing idly at the flickering flame and appearing a million miles away.

Her long slender legs were crossed casually at the ankles and were out of the water from the knees down, from the knees up in this case, her feet were propped up-and-over the left corner ledge.

In the background a faint hum was heard from the jet-tub pump as the water sloshed with great speed through the four silver jets, shooting the liquid around Sara's body and displacing a milky layer of miniscule polar bubbles randomly along the surface. Her chest was rising and falling rhythmically, leaving nearly undetectable ripples an inch or two away while her right breast's proximity to a jet made it seem to jiggle slightly in the surrounding whirls and eddies.

His eyes landed on her face.

Pained.

Strained.

Her cheeks bore the stained remnants of the sobs he had heard and her eyes the strain of tears.

Her mouth was set in a frown – not quite quivering, not quite still.

Her hair clung to her chin, brown tips fanning out in the wet medium like brushes on a clear canvas.

–Grissom had never felt more committed to Sara than he did at that exact moment in time.

Yet…her expression reflected a glimmer of inner peace, buried somewhere within the depths of a worried soul.

Slowly he knelt down in front of the candle, intent on not spooking her.

A lone tear falling from the corner of her eye acknowledged his presence, slowly making its way down the saline path toward the end just as the timed minutes on the jet-tub counted their way down to zero.

Calm.

The jets were off.

The silence was perceptible.

The doppler 'tap' of her teardrop merging with the water – soothing.

–As the ripples from her anguish vanished in front of her, Sara knew it had been her last tear shed over Seth Schneider.

After all the years of internal battles, fear and…shame, Sara breathed in all the pomegranate scented strength her lungs could muster and let the past escape across her tongue.

It was almost strange how uncomplicated it seemed – unstoppable suddenly.

"—In 1968, when Army Private Lloyd Schneider returned from Viet Nam in a casket, my mother was left on her own with nine-year-old Seth and his father's shiny dog tags."

She exhaled quietly.

"Seth's father now jangled around his son's neck, and that was about it."

Grissom watched her intently as the words were flowing from her mouth, equally surprised and awed by her raw depiction.

"My…father, entering the picture shortly thereafter, brought a lot of changes – including me, and I don't think Seth ever dealt too well with any of it. He left when I was six, after I found a stash under his bed, which initiated an all out war between everybody… Over the years I've come to think he was looking for an out at that point anyway, you know?"

The orange glow of the candle flame reflected in her eyes.

"–Looking to get away from the craziness of it all."

There was a wistful quality to her otherwise strong voice.

"I don't think my brother has ever really forgiven his father for dying, nor our mother for allowing my father to take his place. He seemed…Seth was old enough to understand what was going on around the house, where I didn't really…you know, and I think he was just very angry with her for letting it happen…and I—"

Her eyes traveled down her legs until gliding into the water's edge where they appeared to drown.

"—I believe he has taken that out on many women like her ever since…"

She looked Grissom straight in the eye now.

"…and I know he figured…he figured that if his own mother had what it took to kill somebody, then…why wouldn't he?"

Sara released a pent up lungful of air.

"I know that…because I used to think the same way – all the time."

Grissom's eyes widened as Sara's gradually softened.

He finally spoke up, not wanting the magnitude of the moment to slip away.

"—But now you don't…anymore – think that way."

_'Do you think there is a murder gene?'_

His mind never could filter out her words from that night, or the haunted look on her face…

She let her eyelids close to take her back to her thoughts one last time.

"Now…"

Grissom thought he saw something akin to surprise across her features as she blinked.

"…now I think of you."

'_We have the wolf by the ears, and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go. _

_Justice is in one scale and self-preservation in the other.'_

Thomas Jefferson's words swam in his head, floating to the surface as he realized Sara had finally loosened the grip on her own personal 'wolf'.

The 'beast' from her past may have been confined to a life in prison after his conviction back in San Francisco, but only now, through her own openness, had she succeeded in safely letting Seth go.

"Sara…"

This time the lone tear fell from Grissom's eye.

"…I'm proud of you."

It sounded so…meek.

As plain as the statement was it was also honest; he didn't know how else to express the myriad of emotions that were overwhelming him and calming him at once.

His left arm moved behind him and grabbed her towel off the rack, never taking his eyes off her.

"—You are a remarkable woman, inside and out."

Even though, for the first time, he had now seen Sara naked, it was her soul that she had laid bare for him to see.

And she was so amazingly beautiful.

Wrapped in her towel and in Grissom's arms, she watched as the water slowly started draining. At first its movement was almost imperceptible and soundless. Then, as the volume dropped, the remaining water appeared to be pulled toward the inevitable black hole.

With one last strangled gurgle Sara's diluted tear was finally gone – swirling down the drain to never be seen again.

She turned in his arms, seeing for the first time the array of emotions barely contained behind the glaze of his dark eyes.

Powerful emotions; heart-breaking, soul-mending, so…bare, so vulnerable – just like her.

Suspended somewhere between emotional exhaustion and unnerving restlessness, she felt an acute need to be completely absorbed by him. The need to express what her mind could not conjure up, what his eyes could not verbalize – appreciation, respect, awe...love.

Only four more words escaped Sara's lips before her ability to voice her feelings ebbed completely.

"—Make love to me."

* * *

'_At its heels was a wolf, who had almost seized it, when the cat changed itself into a worm, and, _

_piercing the skin of a __pomegranate__ which had tumbled from a tree, hid itself in the fruit.'_

–Andrew Lang, The Arabian Nights

* * *


	12. Purple

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI nor any of its characters. I do care for them, however, and try to treat them with care and respect 

A/N: If it has aired it is fair game. This chapter also marginally contains spoilers for episode 713. I have no beta, all mistakes are mine.

* * *

**_Purple_ **

* * *

**December – '_Butterflies count not months but moments and still have time enough'_**

* * *

**Anno 2006**

Sara rolled over on her stomach toward the warmth still contained between the sheets, moaning silently as her meandering left hand found the cool edge of the bed.  
He was not there. Instead she found herself face down in Teddy's plush belly, an incomprehensible mumble escaping the bear's cottony stuffing. Grissom could not decipher it, but that didn't really matter much.

_He was going to miss her mumbles. A lot._

"Honey?"

Reaching down he gathered her hair away from her face as she turned to eye him, slightly confused still from sleep. He briefly contemplated the diagonal indentation across the right side of her face, and whether or not his absence would make it a permanent line.

_From sleep, not from worry…hopefully._ The thought left him somber.

She normally slept either soundly on her back with her arm splayed somewhere across him or his side or, if she was restless, spooning up against him taking solace in his warm presence. The pillow crease mirrored on her face was usually a dead give-away of the latter.

Her voice had all but vanished in the dry indoor air, yet a raspy "What's wrong? Why are you …up?" escaped nonetheless.

_Restless…still._

"I've been admiring you sleeping."

His forehand gently caressed her cheek before he pulled back to pick up the little stool he had placed next to her bedside table some five minutes earlier. Unable to sleep he had risen, put on a tee and a pair of boxers, before sitting down by her side. Yet somehow he had still felt terribly exposed...and distanced.

"Oh…"

A frown distorted her pillow-perfect face.  
Noticing the slump in his shoulders as he disappeared into the bathroom she pulled herself out of bed to follow him, grabbing her silky robe before plopping down on the wooden seat.

"…okay?"

"I got a letter from Williams College yesterday." Gauging her reaction through the mirror he turned to her and continued face to face.

"They want me to teach a class there. This winter."

She looked as uncomfortable sitting on that stool now as he had felt before. Reaching out to her he was waiting for some reaction; some indication of what was going through her mind.

"It's only for a month honey, and…"

"—When?"

Her voice disappeared into his stomach as it had the bear earlier.

"I…will have to let them know something by the end of the week."

She pushed herself at arms length and looked up at him, seeing the doubt in his eyes.

"When…do you leave?" She had to ask, but knew it didn't really much matter.

_She would miss him and it hurt. A lot._

Standing and brushing her thumb over his cheek, she turned and walked back to their bed. Curling up with her bear, she pulled the covers up and over her nose. What little of his warmth had remained there before was now completely gone.

She felt cold.

* * *

"I'll miss you." 

And with that he was gone.

She knew there had been trying 'moments', several in fact, since the day they had officially consummated their relationship. More than a year had gone by, filled with moments of joy and happiness, uncertainty and disappointment. The occasional ponderous comment here, the silently questioning glance there.

However, nothing _momentous_ had managed to damage their shared sanctuary; the cocoon of contentment they had spun together.

Until _he_ did.

…

"_Structurally a cocoon's weakness comes from the inside, nature's ingenious way of signaling the butterfly's readiness to spread its wings and fly…"_

…

Back in San Fran that fateful day some eleven years ago, Grissom's statement had immediately demanded her attention. He had said it with such ardor, such an indescribable sense of…what, philosophical awe maybe? Who puts a philosophical spin on butterflies in a scientific connotation after all?

She had later noticed the same statement spelled out on the very first page of his entomology text, claiming it _'easier to understand a butterfly's morphism if going backward from winged maturity to formation of pupa'. _

Yet, when it was her _own_ life going backward…understanding why was certainly not easier. Not by Grissom's logic.

_Why did he have to tear a huge hole in their 'cocoon', no counsel, when they were in it together?  
To go find his 'wings'? _

She didn't even want to contemplate the irony of that…

* * *

… 

His cab was here.

He knew he should leave.

"I'll see you when you get back."

_They had agreed to disagree, had they not?_

Her proximity nearly made him kiss her once more.

Eyes full with silent resignation left him second-guessing her.

…

Had he taken a few backward glances he would have seen _her_.

_How could a man as smart as Grissom not think of that? _

He would have seen the gaping hole he left behind.

Remaining inside was a wingless butterfly.

Alone and suddenly exposed.

Left in the dark…

…

* * *

"_Colors, what do you think about colors Sara?" _

"_What do you think about when you think about certain colors?" _

…

_She was skipping along the colorful puddles exactly like a fish in water, a goldfish jumping from one to the next. For each color she passed through a smidge of pigment subsequently would transfer, leaving the one after it not quite as pure as before, but all the more unique. Giggling whole-heartedly she smacked her brush-like tail fins in the now purplish muck, shamelessly wiggling to rid herself of the muddy coating._

"_Got a canvas for that, Miss…?" said a low voice behind her._

_Flushed she turned to the most gorgeous blue whale she had ever met.  
All she could mutter were a couple of bubbles. _

_Blop-blop._

"_I…Sorry!" She thought she would drown as he released the geyser of a breath he had been holding, showering them both with equal amounts of wit and water._

"_Okay Miss 'I…Sorry', no need to flounder." His baleen smirk was slightly crooked._  
"Balaenoptera musculus," _the whale said by ways of introduction,_  
"_care to go for a swim?" _

_All she heard was '_musculus_'…and that he was._

"_Sidle…" _

_BLOP!_

"…_um, Sara" she invited. _

"Balaenoptera" _he accepted._

"_Nice to meet you…_musculus_, a swim sounds good."_

…

The shrill ring of her cell phone brought her out of her bizarre dream. One look at the caller ID and she hit the ignore button before dropping heavily back into the fiber-filled square, letting her eyelids again fall to. _Shit._

* * *

He had called her at least every other hour when he knew she would be up, for the past week. He had been gone for two. Last week he had called a couple of times a day, probably trying to give her space. 

A slippery slope.

…

Sometimes she wanted to scream.

Sometimes she wanted to ask him why.

Sometimes she wanted to ask how he was doing.

…

Always she wanted to hear his voice, yet never would she allow it.

As the adrenaline from the latest phone call slowly subsided, she found herself drifting off to a fitful sleep.

…

_At some point they had swum head first into a spiraling current. _

'_Never swim against the current. Swim parallel to the beach until free of the current, then head for the shore.' _

_She had tried to swim free a time or two, but ultimately resigned herself to the familiar feeling of swimming in circles. It was mostly effortless and at least they were together. Her colorful puddles must have entered the current at one point too, because the once dark blue _musculus _had now become_ _a mottled grey with a white splotch on his back. It actually made him look even better; he really was a killer of a whale. _

_However, the longer they swam, the murkier the waters became. All the colors from her palette that once had her skipping happily now bled together to create a vast black ocean. It left her restless. She needed him and turned to swim to him but he wasn't there, where was he? She turned the other way but it was simply too dark to see anything._

…

Frantic she stretched across to feel for him, but came up with nothing. "…Sometimes..a..dying..whale..is..just..a..dying..whale..."

The sound of her own voice woke her with a start and for a split second a feeling of sheer terror washed over her, ebbing before she could seize what had been. Sitting up her heaving chest felt heavy and she realized her forehead was clammy when her hair started sticking.

Nightmares were old news to her, but this one in particular didn't seem familiar. She felt the chill, even if she could remember very little and understand even less.

* * *

The sound of his own voice was all too familiar as the machine kicked in, prompting him to leave yet another message on his home phone. Talking to himself again, trying not to sound too worried…but failing miserably. She had said she would see him when he got back, at least her words were something tangible to hold on to; a good thing. At least he _hoped_ seeing her again would be a good thing. 

Their argument had been, for them, heated. He had felt a sudden chill, however, when he had agreed to disagree. What exactly he was disagreeing with he couldn't remember…not that much had been articulated really, of which he understood even less. Buthe had agreed to disagree, not wanting to leave on bad terms. He had been thinking of nothing else since.

If the cool Massachusetts air had cleared anything up over the past two weeks, it was his erroneous perception of the 'how' versus the 'what'. His decision of a sabbatical was not the real issue with her, rather, he suspected, was the way in which he had decided. The fact that he had decided without so much as discussing it with her. _Why did that just now occur to him as something he should have done? _

If he were going to be some 2,500 miles from home - alone, then, by way of deduction, so would she.

She hadn't asked to go, she hadn't said he couldn't go, she had simply said she didn't want him to go. _Since when had Sara not wanting him to leave become a bad thing?_

The new cell phone he had sent her, a peace offering begging desperately for her to communicate with him, had been turned off.He realized how him wanting to communicate now may have seemed a bit two-faced, but he had hoped reaching out would give him one more chance to explain his reasons for going away, on her terms and time. Just one chance to hear her say that she was okay. Even her cussing him out at this point; yelling, screaming, expressing her anger, would be a godsend. An angry Sara was an emotional Sara.

More likely she was hurt. He had managed to hurt her again, when it was the last thing he had meant to do. _Life can be such a slippery slope. _

The sound of absolute nothing when he dialed the number, followed by a recorded voice and a very distinct 'click' as he was disconnected, clearly said she was not okay. The phone was shut off and he shut out. Sara…shut down.

"_The customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable."_

…

Truer words were never spoken.

* * *

Taking the purple pen out of his pocket and a pad out of his bag, he took a deep breath – he had a lot of grading to do... 

Everything was magnified and intense, his senses on edge. The little pinhead hole in the 747's window now gave him a headache just trying to focus on it. He could not seem to focus on anything, where to begin? His last lecture of the week on Thursday nights were usually heavy with lighter fare, including illustrative charts and geographical surveys of the Walden Pond site, winter aiding little with on-site habitat studies. Luckily that had allowed him to get out of there fairly quickly, placing him back in Vegas before end of shift that Friday morning. He had stopped by the townhouse for a quick shower, only to find she had not been staying there. Surprised, no. Saddened?

Scared.

A few errands later he had pulled into Sara's apartment complex where he looked at her key for exactly one second before putting it away. He had not used it that weekend, he hadn't needed to. That in itself was a start, one he had not taken for granted. They had agreed to agree on his finishing the Williams commitment, her signaling she was alive at the end of each shift and, upon his return, their needing to jointly patch up the hole that had weakened their refuge. He had left her with the gift he had taken months to put together for Christmas, but not had a chance to give her. She had left him with a beautiful purple pen that she had meant to send him with. Supposedly the pens had been 'it' for correcting student papers the last couple of years where _"color psychologists had stated the color purple embodies red's sense of authority but also blue's association with serenity, making it a less negative and more constructive color for corrections."_

Hopeful.

A relieved expression formed on his face as the drone of the plane and the rapidly darkening skies signaled his passage eastward on a crisp January evening. Looking out through his window the stars were slowly starting to twinkle, at times contorted by the ice crystals forming around the tiny hole in the pane. Thinking back he realized that after all these years, he had yet to tell Sara his favorite constellation. That would be his first revelation when he got back home.

Moving the pen from the purple patchwork he had subconsciously doodled in the margin, he wrote in steady hand at the very top of the page; _'Gilbert Grissom, 08-17-56'._ Then, after printing the number '1' on the next line down and to the left, he wrote down a prompt to tell Sara about seeing stars. Directly below it, again right next to the vertical line, he printed the number '2'.

He had a list of corrections to make.

* * *

"_Often a purple patch or two is tacked on to a serious work of high promise, to give an effect of colour"_

-Horace

* * *

_**END**_

_**A/N: Stay tuned for the epilogue to be posted within the next couple of days (yes…really!). I will also go back and clean up formatting and other issues for the story in its entirety shortly. Thanks so much to all of you who have hung in there, reviewed and inquired about updates.**_

_**-Ligaras**_


	13. Epilogue

**Spoilers: **General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

* * *

**_Epilogue_**

* * *

_'Just living is not enough,'  
said the butterfly,  
'One must have sunshine,  
freedom,__ and a little flower'_

-Hans Christian Andersen

* * *

Teddy had to go.

No if's, and's or but's about it. It was part of his master plan. But how to make it work without Sara finding out?  
That was going to be the tricky part…

In Vegas the spring breeze carried with it a pleasant warmth more often than not, and the minutes of extra daylight gained every day slowly made each day look a little bit brighter. He smiled to himself when he realized the similarities to his personal life of late. Looking over at Sara where she stood in their walk-in closet, a tee over one arm and a burgundy fleece pullover draped over the other, he was awed by her practicality and straight forward approach to most tasks at hand. She had approached him in much the same manner when he had come home after his stint at Williams.

– One day at a time, allowing for both warm and not so warm days.

His suitcase sported a handful of tees and only one light jacket so far. He had decided to be optimistic for once.  
…_Spring is but a song, where love and laughter are not wrong…_

"Did your buddy at WCU happen to give you any hints pointing to any unusual April weather in the Carolinas, or should I pack like a girly-girl going on vacation?"

She gave him a shy smile, almost morphing into the mischievous Sara he had been used to seeing, before tossing both garments in the suitcase and closing their distance.

"Thank you, really. I'm excited about this trip. And not only because it's to a body farm..."  
He got a quick peck on the lips before she returned to the depths of the closet to unearth what she considered to be suitable footwear for walking among the dead.

"I would pack for going on vacation…you never know."

_Nine years of not knowing…but nine years of knowing what to do should the chance present itself._

* * *

When the second body farm in the country had opened last year at Western Carolina University, he had naturally had an invite in the mail…and in his inbox…and by phone. He hadn't thought Sara going with him to be a good idea at the time and really did want to include her, so he had decided to politely decline. Returning that phone call late last November he had found that not only was the offer still standing, but his inquiry into bringing one of his colleagues had nearly set off an event of proportions not really catering to his own main purpose for the trip. This he had managed to convey in a roundabout way, if not somewhat unconvincingly.

It was one of the few perks of being the eccentric bug guy…people tended to accept his requests and conditions without too many questions asked.

With Sara halfway out the door he picked Teddy up off the bed and placed him gently in the suitcase, and grabbing his own printed blue shirt from its hanger he covered the bear up, lest Sara catch a glimpse prematurely.

He didn't really keep things from her anymore, but this was different… Zipping the case up and checking his pocket one more time he caught up with Sara just as she were about to hoist her case into the back of his vehicle._  
Independently efficient, as always._

"May I, please?" He gestured to her green nylon case and was glad to see a genuine smile light up her face.

Having loaded his own case as well he slammed the backdoor shut and tossed her the keys, knowing she liked to drive just as much as he did. Confident in returning her smile he felt their trip to be off to a good start.

* * *

Their flight had been effortless and their drive even fruitful. Staying on scenic Rt 74 for as long as they could, from the minute they had left Charlotte until they neared Cullowhee, had allowed them to truly appreciate spring for what spring is supposed to signify. 

New life and new beginnings.

North Carolina came across as refreshingly healthy and green when compared to the arid lifeless landscape of Nevada. After about four hours on the road, of which a good half hour had been spent at a 'mom & pop' country store and gas station, they arrived at WCU. Sara had noticed the typically southern culinary delight of hush puppies advertised on the marquee, and had insisted they stop. _  
At least they would not have to worry about Vampires any time soon…_

He'd only had two, but that meant she'd eaten the other ten - evidently they had indeed been a particularly good batch. And as was true for most good things in life; you don't know what you're missing until it's been…_beyond your reach_…for a while.

…

The body farm was his domain, one that she was eager to join, and after two days of non-stop exploration they found themselves on familiar and comfortable ground. Not only was he intrigued to work this closely with Sara again, but it had also brought them right back to the old days of him as a mentor and her as the student – times still dear to them.

Exhausted after their busy weekend they had opted for the swifter interstate when heading back to a Charlotte hotel for their _supposed_ next morning return flight. Unfortunately this also meant missing out on a dozen spheres of corn-and-garlic goodness, but even Sara was too tired at this point to object. Grissom had been secretly relieved. Sara didn't know it yet, but their vacation was only about to begin and he wanted her well rested.

* * *

"Uh, Grissom, did you just miss the exit to the airport?" Her face scrunched up a bit considering they had been lodging in the airport business park area.

"Hmm, did I?" He merged onto southbound I-77, seemingly unaware of his missed exit.

"Aah…yeah you did."

"Oh. Well, I guess we won't be going to the airport then."  
Barely containing a smirk his peripheral vision was on high alert, anticipating Sara's reaction to his unusually laid-back take on the situation.

"What?"

He kept a close eye on her, not wanting the situation to get out of hand.

"—We've always liked driving and our rental is quite comfortable don't you think? Let's just keep on going and see where we end up."

Sara said nothing, just stared into the windshield as if it were a crystal ball. Deciding he should probably somewhat clue her in before she reached her own conclusions, he added—

"…it may just be fun!"

Clearly her expression conveyed her absolute conviction of him having lost his mind, but she appeared more amused than apprehensive by her temporary conclusion.

With raised eyebrows and a playful smile he turned to her.

"—You up for some fun?"

After a few hours they had reached their 'mystery destination' when zooming past the city limit sign indicating they were now in Charleston proper. Sara had lowered the window a bit, willing the familiar ocean breeze to fill her lungs.  
_Nine years. It had been nine years since she, they, were here last. Nine long years…_

She had done a double take as he had driven right by the Double Tree suites and made a right turn, pulling up at the curb in front of the Planter's Inn.

"We're here…if this is okay with you?"

Still somewhat tongue-tied she looked to the man on her left whose countenance contained an array of emotions, most notably nervous anticipation. With both her hands she had taken hold of his right hand, still unknowingly grasping the shifter, and kissed his knuckles gently before enveloping his whole arm in an awkward hug. Too affected by the realization of what was happening, combined with the weight of the serious struggles they had been working through over the past few months, she could not voice her onslaught of feelings. But she felt entirely like a girly-girl about to be seduced all over again, and she was ready – _they_ were ready.

"It's okay with me, it's very much okay."

A slight squeeze had let him know it really was, to which a boyish grin escaped before asking her to stay put for another second or two so he could get the door for her.  
_Everything looked just as she remembered it, a true sign of a fine hotel. _

"Your reservation is waiting."

Grissom guided her to the front desk, indicating she should check in.

"Your name Miss?" said the concierge, her knowing smile passing right over Sara's head to the blue-eyed gentleman behind her.

"_My_ name? Oh, uh…Sidle. Sara Sidle." She turned to look at Grissom who in turn just smiled back.

He had hoped to be back with key privileges some day…

"Okay Miss Sidle. We have your reservation for three nights in a non-smoking room, two queen beds. And your stay has already been settled in full. How many keys would you like, Miss?" Sara looked to Grissom again, just receiving a shrug of his shoulders this time.

"—Two. Um, two would be great."

"Okay Miss Sidle. You'll be in room 305. _Your-key-will-also-operate-the-elevator-which-is-located-around-the-corner-and-to-your-right. Your-room-will-be-on-the-third-floor-at-the-end-of-the-left-hallway. And-if-we-can-do-anything-to-make-your-stay-here-with-us-more-comfortable-please-do-not-hesitate-to-call-the-front-desk-at-any-hour._"

Not having heard a single word the well meaning clerk had spoken after 'room 305', she found herself pushing the elevator button. Luckily she also found Grissom right behind her with both their suitcases.

Her hand was close to shaking as she turned the key to the right, not for the first time. The key had remained unchanged as well – they still used real metal as opposed to the more common plastic cards.

Flickering light and unmistakable fragrance had met her when she pushed the door open – it had made her stop dead in her tracks. There were lit candles wherever there was a surface to put them, with the exception of the trunk in front of the bed where her Teddy had once been seated some nine years ago.

The lid of that trunk had been covered with a number of beautiful magnolia flowers, each and every one stuck securely into their own yellow apple halves. She had walked closer, as if to make certain they were really there.

"—There are nine of them…one for each year I should have given you one, but didn't have the courage to do so."

Sara had turned to look at the beautifully complex person still standing in the doorway. And at that very moment, with the dancing candlelight reflecting from the gilded walls surrounding him, she had recognized that there were not enough nuances of visible color in the entire spectrum to paint an accurate picture of Gil Grissom.

* * *

_Cleansing tears of relief and release…of equilibrium._

* * *

  
By the time Grissom had uncovered Teddy from his suitcase, Sara had been out like a light. He had decided to place the bear among the magnolia blossoms covering the trunk lid, the same place Sara had originally reached for him some nine years ago. However, looking at Sara's sleeping form was a study in serenity and he realized that this time around Teddy may not be whom she would be reaching for…

Having picked up a magnolia and replaced it with Teddy, Grissom could not help but feel...enlightened?  
_Who knew a quiet stuffed bear could speak with such force and insight?_

…

The bright light, combined with the faint scent of extinguished candles still hanging in the air, reflected the early morn.

Keeping her eyes closed in protest she took a slow deep breath, willing the tender memories of last night to stay with her forever.  
_They had made love…and peace._

"I love you," he said, barely a whisper, relieved to again feel the weight of her arm where it lay resting across his forehead.

Sensing she was about to move, he gently stilled her. A primal yet soft look grazed his features, raw need filled his voice.

"—Humor me?"

She sank back into the down pillow and adjusted herself to where she could better look at him.

"Do I do that a lot…you know, slap you unintentionally while in my sleep?"

Her lighthearted query was lined with genuine concern, concern rooted in her past.

"When I'm lucky..."

He didn't smile per se, rather he…adored her.  
_Was that even possible?_

Random little swirls of his fingers caressed the delicate skin of her lower arm, dissipating the slight tension her worries had brought on.

"—And actually…you reach out to me. You're very gentle."

The complete sincerity in his voice surprised her, she never had been a peaceful sleeper...until he was there.

Sitting up Grissom took a deep breath before continuing, still clutching her hand.

"Sara—"

His eyes alternated between her eyes and his own flowing thoughts.

"I ask that you will continue to reach out for me whenever you need me…and even when you do not need me."

Reaching for the magnolia Teddy had provided him, he very carefully placed the adorned flower in her outreached hand now resting in his lap .

"—Forever."

Wide-eyed she cupped the white blossom. Bringing it closer to her face she was just about to take in the citrusy fragrance when a ray of sun directed her eyes to the shiny gold band contained within—

"Marry me?"

Beautifully outlined by the strong waxy petal that held it, the antique Victorian ring had five variably sized old cut diamonds, lined up like stepping stones and completely inlaid in what looked like a sandy golden riverbed. Occasionally gleaming with blue, the sparkling gems mimicked a lazy river on a sunny day.

Unique, natural and stunning – like Sara.

_The swirling dark blue water brought back memories, warm memories of radiating body heat and wind in her hair. Had it really been over ten years?_

…

Two souls, one work of art.

Now. Then. Forever.

* * *

"_In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love"_

-Marc Chagall

* * *

_FIN_


End file.
